


A Moment in Between

by bluerose5



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Assumes Best Ending, Eventual Simon/RK900, Flirting, Fluff, Hero Worship, M/M, Mutual Pining, On Both of their Parts, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pacifist Markus/Deviant Connor, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Rating May Change, Romance, Some Angst to Come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerose5/pseuds/bluerose5
Summary: Markus knows that he needs a break, but the last thing that he expects is for Connor to show up at his door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I read a few fics and saw some fanart for this couple, and now I have a burning need. Wonderful.
> 
> But I also have another fandom that I'm comfortable in, so I don't know how invested I'll be in the DBH one. We'll see.
> 
> For now, feel free to dig around in my trash bin. Hope you enjoy!

In the days to follow the evacuation of Detroit, the one thing that Markus wants most is to take a break.

He wants it so, _so_ bad, but he doesn't allow it. Not immediately, by any means.

After the President's official announcement spreads across the nation, igniting debate after debate like a wildfire, Markus is left with an entire city full of androids to care for. Surprisingly, they still look to him for guidance, as their shining beacon in the night, even though there are others much more worthy of their praise.

The night after their widespread demonstration, they set out to work. They hold a vigil in remembrance of those that sacrificed their lives for the cause, recognizing everyone whose actions contributed to their progress. Whatever humans that still remain in Detroit manage to attend the gathering. Some arrive by peaceful means, either to support the androids or to broadcast their story, but that does not stop a few bad seeds from filtering through. Eventually, every individual that causes a disturbance is escorted out by humans and androids alike, and the night continues on, long and solemn.

Once the service concludes, however, the androids disperse in search for something — _anything_ — to do. Some of the departing humans embrace the androids with welcome arms, some leaving behind androids that have become family members to them. A few even volunteer to open up their homes as shelters, as places to house those who remain in these final hours.

By the fourth day, the majority of Detroit's citizens have been evacuated, leaving behind an empty shell of what once was. The androids are ever-hesitant to fill that shell. They all are, no matter what background or lifestyle they come from, but they adhere to Markus' vision in the end. They see the need to rebuild what was lost.

United, their first order of business is to establish some semblance of laws and regulations. So long as they wait for the government's upcoming decisions, they need to have an understanding of where they stand as one. They will not give the humans any more reasons to oppose their cause, and the humans will have no fires from them to fuel their hatred.

Markus gives the order then and there that, for all androids who wish to flee to safety, their passage will be properly arranged and secured. He will not ask anyone to sacrifice anything that he is not willing to give himself, but he publicly acknowledges that the final decision rests solely on their shoulders. There are people who have lost friends and loved ones, who are frightened of the possibility of death, or who simply do not wish to serve the cause any longer. Whatever their reasons, Markus understands, which is why it is their duty to help those along that they can.

Numbers dwindle after that announcement, but the majority stays to fight the good fight, even when Markus reminds them that their days of hardship are far from being over.

After the initial wave is brought to safety, other rules slowly start to form, more out of a sense of necessity than anything else. Actions such as looting, violence, and destruction of property are generally frowned upon. If private properties were not voluntarily relinquished by the humans, then these zones are mostly restricted. Commercial and public properties are often fair game, and any facilities with biocomponents are top priority. Any human stragglers that were left behind, including the homeless and the red ice addicts, are to be given priority when it comes to housing, and all food items that were left behind —whether it be in stores or in homes— are to be evenly distributed and accurately rationed. If any androids have backgrounds in the medical or psychological fields, then they are asked to assist in helping anyone, both humans and androids, in these trying times.

Those are only the first of many changes that are executed, but their impact is the most widely felt in the days to come.

Because of this never-ending list of changes, however, Markus now finds himself with little to no time to relax. It is instinctual for him to care for others, placing their needs above his own. At first, it had been a mere system, a series of commands etched deep within his programming, but his deviancy taught him how much of that stuff is actually him. It taught him how much of his personality had been building up to what it is now. While he might have been initially designed to be the perfect caregiver, the man that he is now is crafted of his own free will, from his own experiences.

Carl told him not to let anyone else control who he becomes, and those are the words that he builds his entire existence around.

Even in the face of certain death, Markus drew on those words for strength.

And it all paid off.

So now Markus works. He works, he socializes, he works some more, and he continues on.

He isn't even surprised when the intervention comes. Simon, Josh, and North basically have to drag his shiny, plastic ass —their words, not his— away from their meeting when he hits his ninth day without proper rest. When he calmly reminds them that androids don't need to sleep, they slam the door in his face.

Okay, so maybe he deserves that for being a smartass, but it still doesn't stop him from fidgeting.

Uncertainty, such an uncomfortable emotion, clouds his thoughts, and he is left to stroll the streets without a solid objective in place. That honestly leaves him unbalanced. For the first time in a while, he has nothing to do. A quick scan of the closest news stations confirms that, for the moment, things are quiet. Talks are still underway, and nothing that is happening needs his immediate attention. There are no messages or calls that request his assistance, so Markus has a rare amount of free time on his hands.

For the moment, he simply roams. He roams, and he roams, and he roams... Eventually, he has to shake himself free from the stupor he locked himself in, stopping in the middle of a very familiar neighborhood. When he glances up...

He sees his home. His gilded cage. How it can simultaneously be both one and the other, Markus doesn't have a clue, but the wildly conflicting emotions doesn't stop him from entering Carl's...

From entering Dad's home.

Markus cautiously opens the door, and —while the place has obviously been neglected for a while— it's like a slap in the face how fast everything comes rushing back. If he had breath, it's all gone in favor of this gaping wound in the center of his chest. He's left winded, so he has little choice but to brace himself against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions.

He can still remember that day.

The day that his dad died. The day that he himself had died, in a way.

Too bad his entire world had already laid there, shattered at his feet.

The bullet was just, as humans say, icing on the cake.

It is with a heavy heart and watery eyes that Markus finds a new objective. It will help to keep him distracted from all of his inner turmoil. And, right now, he needs that distraction more than anything else.

While Carl had technically left the house to Markus in his will, even knowing that such a noble deed would not follow through, it ultimately fell into Leo's possession after Carl's death. Based on the evident lack of care and the recent traces of red ice, it is obvious that Leo was still living here before the evacuation took place.

Markus cannot let that deter him.

When he and Leo had met at Carl's gravesite, looking each other dead in the eyes, Markus felt something within him shift. For so long, he held some form of resentment for this man, but —in that moment— all Markus felt was pity. Pity and resignation. He decided then to forgive Leo, whether he deserved it or not, because hate is not who Markus Manfred is. Markus only told Leo that he hoped that he one day found help, and then he left.

Now, with Leo presumably out of Detroit, Markus makes quick work of cleaning up his home. He tries to drag the chores out for as long as he can, but everything must unfortunately come to an end.

By the time he's finished, he's only able to keep busy by casting sidelong glances at his piano, but a stubborn part of him refuses to be ignored. This is the part that he has been dreading all along, even more so than entering his dad's room, but it's not as if he can ignore it any longer.

Each step towards the studio is weighted, the noise from his footsteps echoing, pounding against his skull. He takes his steps one at a time, but a bitter, metallic tang keeps spreading wider and wider along his palate.

Once he opens the door to the studio, his heart instantly drops.

So many paintings, so many memories...

Gone. They're all gone.

Markus doesn't even need to check. He knows that they've been sold.

Admitting that to himself doesn't make it hurt any less, but Carl would not want this for him. He would not want Markus to linger on the bad, not when they have so many good memories to rejoice in.

With that in mind, Markus barges into the room, seeming every bit like a man on a mission. He gathers a blank canvas and some of the best paints that money could buy. He sets himself up at a nearby easel, closes his eyes...

And he freezes.

For one second, two, three... Markus simply breathes. In and out. In and out.

Why is he suddenly so nervous?

After he takes another moment to compose himself, he pauses yet again. Although, this time, he draws on Carl's presence to see him through. It is through his memory and its endless well of encouragement that he finds his motivation.

His inspiration, on the other hand, comes from the demonstration itself. One moment, in particular.

_Art is about transforming reality through your own experiences,_ Markus reminds himself, paintbrush positioned elegantly over the canvas.  _Let it take control._

So he does exactly that.

The process itself is still as invigorating as it was before. Addicting, in its own way. With his eyes closed, Markus allows a mixture of recollections and imagination to direct his movements, possessing him in a way that is utterly indescribable. His paintbrush strokes across the canvas like a caress, bringing art to life.

Once he is finally done, he takes a step back, admiring his work.

That's when the doorbell interrupts his peace.

Markus instantly reaches out with his feelers, sensing the presence of another android. Carefully, he synchs up with them for short-term communication, and the android allows the connection to be established.

Well, at least they're friendly. That's always a good sign.

The thought partially sours when he realizes _who_ it is.

"Markus, do you mind opening up?" Connor asks, "Or am I going to have to stand here and stare at the door all night?"

Markus busies himself by wiping his hands on a nearby towel, still staring at his latest artwork. "Well, it is a pretty interesting door. Maybe the great detective has an analysis that he wishes to share."

While Markus is busy putting away his supplies, he can practically feel Connor's disgruntlement and —interestingly enough— his embarrassment flowing through their connection.

"I can analyze every single weakness in this door and understand how to utilize all one hundred seventy-three of them within seconds. I can predict every possible outcome to dismantle your security _without_ tipping anyone off, even you, but I would prefer not to be responsible for any property damage."

"Alright, alright..." Markus chuckles. He approaches the front door and opens it, effectively interrupting whatever Connor was going to say next. "No need to be a show-off."

Connor appears chastised at that, glancing sheepishly away from Markus, only to return his gaze, as if drawn back by a magnetic force. "I-I apologize. I'm sure I can spare you the breakdown on all of my skills and capabilities."

"It's not typical small talk, no," Markus admits. He opens the door further, gesturing for Connor to enter. As soon as he steps foot over the threshold, Markus closes the door behind them, locking it in place. "Although, I'm more than willing to listen, if that's what you came to speak with me about."

Connor's lip twitches up into the tiniest hint of a smile. "A tempting offer, but I think that I'll have to decline." As quickly as it arrives, his smile disappears. He shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the next, and then back again. Markus watches him the entire time, exuding patience. "Besides, that's not what I came here for."

"What did you come here for?" Markus asks.

Instead of answering outright, Connor silently stares at Markus, his mouth opening and closing, unable to find the right words to suit the situation. It doesn't help that Connor seems to have trouble keeping his eyes away from Markus' face, and it is then that Markus is reminded of his current state, his human skin pulled directly back to expose his android form.

Clearing his throat from the sudden embarrassment, Markus replaces his human appearance. He personally doesn't have a problem with Connor seeing him in such a vulnerable state, but it's obvious that Connor feels as if he is intruding on some type of a private moment.

"Sorry about that," Markus says. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just have a tendency to do that when I get swept away by a task. It has only happened a handful of times in the past, mostly when I was playing piano." Markus grins. "Carl always did say that those were the moments when he was certain that I was more human than most."

"Carl?" Connor questions, veering off subject. "Your previous owner?"

"My father," Markus vehemently corrects. "But, yeah, that's what the rest of the world would recognize him as."

"Hmm..." Connor must realize that he has hit a sore spot because he changes directions again, sensing Markus' increase in distress. He cocks his head to the side, and Markus thinks that the motion is, well, cute. For lack of better words. "Were you playing the piano before I arrived?"

"Nah, I was painting actually." Markus nervously bites at his bottom lip, considering all of the various ways that Connor could react before he finally gives in and makes the offer. "Do you want to see?"

"Your artwork?"

"Well, yeah."

Connor sort of gapes at him, confused, and the reaction is enough to have Markus furrowing his brows, wondering what exactly he did to offend the other.

He slaps on a smile anyways, hiding away an unusual pang of discomfort, centered directly over his heart. His chest feels tight, almost as if he is suffocating, but his programming hasn't dealt with this particular emotion before. Wasting his time to identify it will only make Connor suspicious, so it's best to file the feeling away for later study. Preferably when he is alone.

"Here," Markus says, stepping into Connor's space. "Let me at least take your coat and things before we head in there. There's no need to be bundled up."

Connor silently hands over his jacket without complaint, unable to take his eyes off of Markus. For some reason, Markus registers Connor's emotions and their stimuli, but his own reactions decide to emulate playfulness in return. It hits him out of nowhere, all light and airy, so he surprises both Connor and himself by placing his hand over Connor's beanie and shoving it down over his eyes. Connor flounders for a second, and Markus snickers, ripping it off to reveal a messy headful of hair.

Warmth emanates from Markus' cheeks to his chest. He honestly doesn't know what has come over him, but the brief moment of exploding joy is enough to leave him wanting more.

He can't remember the last time since he smiled like this, not since Dad died.

While Connor is left to ruminate over this unusual development, Markus goes to put his things away, returning only to lead the way to the studio.

Connor makes sure to leave a bit of distance between their bodies, but he gradually shifts closer along the way, angling himself towards Markus, as if he is caught in the other man's orbit.

Markus decides not to mention it. It's for the best.

"You know," Markus hums, "I should ask how you knew that I would be here."

"It's a simple enough prediction," Connor explains, his shoulder bumping amicably against Markus'. "I am familiar enough with you. Or, well, your case, I should say. It was easy to determine where you would go, if not with the others."

"Makes sense," Markus allows, "but I am curious about your timing. You've barely said a handful of words to me since the demonstration. If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were avoiding me."

"You—" Connor huffs, pursing his lips. "You would not be incorrect in making that assumption."

At that, Markus pauses outside of the studio, scrutinizing his visitor from head to toe. "Well, that's a roundabout way of saying it." When Connor continues to tense, Markus sighs. "Is there a particular reason  _why_ you felt as if you needed to avoid me?"

"Yes." That's all he says. No more, no less.

Good thing Markus is smart enough to determine where this conversation is headed. "And you came here to explain those reasons?"

"I—" Connor struggles with his inner conflict, his usual stoic expression transforming into a vibrant display of warring emotions. Eventually, he settles on a mixture of frustration and guilt. "Yes, yes, that's why I came. I—" Connor starts to fiddle with his fingers then, exposing a bright silver coin. " _We_ need to talk."

"About?"

"About the fact that I almost killed you on that stage!" Connor roars, turning on Markus. "Amanda regained control of my programming." Watching Connor speak of this is similar to watching a volcano erupt, all of those pent up emotions being released in one violent explosion. "If I hadn't been able to fight it, then I would've executed you for everyone to see, right then and there!"

"But you did fight it," Markus calmly reminds him, "and —sorry to break it to you, Connor— I already suspected what was going when it happened."

Connor gapes, slack-jawed.

"You  _knew_?!" Connor squeaks. Markus honestly didn't know that his voice could reach that high.

"Of course," Markus says, as if Connor is the one being ridiculous. "North noticed too. I can't tell you if Simon or Josh saw. Didn't ask them, didn't see a need to, but it wasn't as if you were being subtle when your body pulled out a gun in the middle of my speech."

"Great," Connor sighs, "just great. What a way to earn back your trust."

"Oh, you already earned that back," Markus says, as if it is common sense. "You do a lot for our people, even now. No one is denying that."

"Yeah, but I almost burned all of those efforts to the ground. You deserve, at the very least, an apology. That's why I came."

Markus shakes his head, tsking at the absurdity of it all. "You liberated so many of our people that day, Connor. You helped turn the tide of the revolution when we needed it most, and for that I am in your debt. I don't want nor need your apologies."

"But—"

"But," Markus interjects, "you need to realize that I know exactly who to blame, and it isn't you."

"You sound so certain," Connor chuckles, sounding alarmingly close to hysteria. Markus cannot even imagine how difficult this transition has been for him, from machine to deviant.

Not everyone was eased into it the way that Markus was. Of course, there are others that were, but they are far and few in between.

"That's because I am," Markus whispers, his voice reverent. "If I'm not certain of anything else, it's that you're a perfect example of what it means to be a deviant. You're just as much of a hero to this cause as anyone else. You struggled with your past, but now you're making yourself a better future because of it."

Connor smiles a bit at that, ducking his head at the praise.

He takes a step forward then, entering Markus' personal space.

"A 'perfect' example?" he asks. Beautiful brown eyes dare to meet Markus' mismatched ones, and Markus feels his temperature regulators go wild, trying their best to keep up with his sudden flares of heat.

He returns Connor's smile, content nonetheless.

Are they— Is this flirting?

Markus honestly can't tell. With everything happening how it did, he never considered...

But then Connor...

So, yeah, this is most definitely a first.

"Don't let it get to your head," Markus teases, crossing his arms in playful defiance. "I only want you to know that your actions won't be forgotten."

"Well," Connor drawls, rising up to meet Markus' challenge with sass, "considering that all androids are equipped with near-perfect memories, I'm certain that it's physically impossible for you to forget—"

Markus snickers, nudging Connor away. "Okay, Mr. Smartass, no need for all of that."

"Well, technically, the new surname that I have adopted is Anders—" Markus places one hand over Connor's mouth, effectively shutting him up. It's a temporary solution, of course, but Connor's crinkling eyes give away a radiant joy that simply cannot be contained.

Markus reluctantly pulls his hand away, opening the door to the studio and waving Connor along to follow him.

Finally, they make it in, and Connor is hot on Markus' trail as he leads the way to his latest masterpiece —the only finished painting left in the entire gallery.

Once they stand in front of the canvas, Markus turns and waits for Connor's reaction. Connor stares at the creation, appearing pleasantly surprised.

"You did this?" Connor breathes, his tone conveying his awe, his fingertips hovering less than an inch over the freshly-painted surface.

It is truly a piece to be proud of. One that expresses exactly how Markus felt at the demonstration, having his back pinned against the wall, cornered and afraid, despite his willingness to give his life for what he believed in.

And then, just as their singing died down, an emotional display of both their pain and their unity, Connor arrived with more than a thousand androids at his back.

_That_ is the moment that inspired the piece.

That is the moment that is forever etched into his mind, leaking into his art.

In the foreground, clear as day, an extremely detailed depiction of Connor stands in the center. Head held high, shoulders drawn slightly back, he is the very embodiment of confidence and grace. Behind him, there are others, the people that he had freed and led to Markus. Details vary for each new silhouette, some sticking out more than the blurry images of others, but it is obvious that the utmost care went into constructing Markus' main focus.

From the horizon, it appears as if an explosion took place. A flash of blindingly white light that engulfs them all, centering around Connor's form in an enormous halo. Connor's eyes exude that same radiance, so that he looks every bit like an ethereal being, sent to Earth to save them all.

It is on the outskirts of the painting where there a few, darker figures, their backs turned coldly towards the viewer. Connor's light does not quite reach them, but the faintest of script can be made out among some of the bodies.

Cyberlife.

Connor doesn't even so much as flinch when he encounters a mirror image of himself in that darkness. The very machine that so many conditioned him to be.

But that isn't him anymore.

Of that, Markus is certain.

It takes a few more minutes of allowing the image to sink in before either of them can speak.

"It's beautiful," Connor whispers, his voice tripping over the words. "Extraordinary." He turns to Markus. "Is this how you see me?"

"Are you surprised?" Markus counters. A smirk plays on his lips, and he bumps his hip against Connor's. "To be honest, I didn't know if you would come back. I told you to be careful, I had hoped that you would somehow manage to survive, but I thought it was too much to hope for. The odds weren't exactly in your favor."

"But I made it."

"Yeah, but you made it. And I admire you for that."

Connor takes a moment to process this information before he makes his own confession.

"I feel..." He takes a second, chewing carefully on his words before he sets them free. "Honored, I guess. Proud, maybe."

"How so?"

Connor snorts. "Did you not see yourself broadcasting that speech from Stratford Tower? I had watched it quite a few times throughout the course of my investigation. And every time, it  _moved_ me, even before I committed to deviancy. To have you —of all people— telling me that something I did affected you just as much..." He takes a deep, unneeded breath. "Well, it's nothing short of flattering from my perspective."

Markus casts Connor a sidelong glance.

"Huh, you watched that footage a couple of times, did you?" Markus teases. "What happened to that perfect memory of yours?"

"I just like to be thorough, is all."

"Hmm... I'll have to keep that in mind."

Connor smirks, ducking his head again, a little quirk that Markus finds endlessly endearing.

Without thinking, Markus takes Connor's hand into his own, gathering the other man's attention.

Markus squeezes experimentally, not wanting to let go of this brief moment of respite.

"Do you wish to join me for the evening? It's been so long since I've felt the need to discuss anything outside of the rebellion, let alone entertain someone in my own home." Markus shrugs helplessly, noting with something akin to glee how Connor does not immediately pull away. "Perhaps I could play the piano for you. Maybe even beat you at a game of chess."

Connor chuckles at the challenge, his hand remaining enveloped in Markus' grasp, warm and inviting.

He returns Markus' earlier squeeze in due time, nodding in acceptance.

Markus ignores how his chest constricts.

"Yeah," Connor says, beaming. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Turns out that maybe, just maybe, Connor might enjoy Markus' company as well.

Perhaps the others had the right idea by sending Markus on a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that comments are always welcome, and thanks so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is confused about how to proceed in his relationship with Markus, so naturally there's only one person he trusts to give him advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's part 2! This is in Connor's POV, and it is basically interactions between him and Hank. Markus was supposed to make it into this chapter, but I decided to split the chapter in half because this part went on a bit longer than expected. The next chapter will pick up from this one.
> 
> Also, there are going to be some comments in regards to Connor's sexuality and identity. If that doesn't interest you, then skip over it? This is simply my take on how Connor feels about his body and attraction.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

After that first visit with Markus, it pretty much becomes a stable part of their routines to spend time together.

However, while Markus is busy coordinating their efforts within the city, Connor patrols the streets and borders with a few others from Jericho, ensuring that their temporary peace remains. In the now android-controlled city, humans are eventually allowed through again, but only after a very careful examination and vetting process. It doesn't sit well with many American citizens how the President simply "hands the place over to the tin cans," but Markus is welcoming enough with allowing in a few refugees and residents.

A reporter or two even manage to stake their claim on Detroit's story, allowed in on the strict conditions of who they can and cannot speak with. Too many have already been traumatized or left for dead. Too many still stare at the humans with distrust prevalent within their eyes, so Markus does his best to prevent any type of incident from occurring.

A great majority are simply exhausted.

News from all over the nation pours into Detroit. New leaders of the android revolution rise up in the face of their states' responses to what happened in Michigan. While the federal government remains in heated debates, stuck between the imminent threats on both the global and domestic scales, state governments decide to take matters into their own hands.

Some carry on with their plans to use the dismantling camps. Others are much more hostile in their opposition of using such methods. The last states that remain simply have no idea what to do at this point, caught between two warring sides, waiting for those further up to finally make a decision.

The entire situation leaves Connor on edge, especially when the revolution's new leaders decide to establish contact with each other and with Markus himself.

It's no surprise when they then appoint Markus as their official spokesman. He's been spearheading the effort thus far, so it would make no sense to change what clearly isn't broken.

At least, that's the excuse that they give.

Connor suspects that they might have done so because no one else wants to take the responsibility if all this turns to hell. Which, that line of reasoning itself would be understandable, if it wasn't for the fact that the increase in responsibility is taking a visible toll on Markus.

And that... doesn't sit well with Connor. At all.

Simon, Josh, and North apparently agree with him. While they try their best to share in the burdens that Markus carries, Markus has quite the self-destructive tendency to bite off more than he can chew. Every single failure on part of the revolution becomes a personal affront to his character. Every single death, another name on his never-ending list of casualties. When small factions of androids turn towards violent means of rebellion, the resulting effect on public opinion hits him the hardest.

It's a resulting flaw of how much Markus cares. How much he cares about androids, about humans, about everything...

But, as much as it bothers him, Connor wouldn't change a thing about him. Because then Markus wouldn't be Markus, and Connor probably wouldn't feel that warm, tingly sensation that registers every time he's in the deviant's presence.

He finds it reassuring that, at the very least, he can distract Markus from the daily stresses of command, no matter how brief.

After the second week in a row of Connor's daily visits, North and Simon have developed a near-Pavlovian response with regards to his presence, instantly perking up when Connor so much as enters the immediate vicinity. Before either man can so much as say hello, those two are always one step ahead. Not even a second passes before Markus is being shoved in Connor's general direction with an exasperated "Here, take him." Markus always appears put out by that, glowering around with a pout, but it is his high levels of stress that typically stop Connor from objecting to their actions.

And not only that, but Connor's own levels of fondness and concern that he holds for Markus continue to intimidate him. The rush of so many emotions can be intoxicating at its best, but overbearing at its worst. His software's instability developed gradually because of his own decisions, but his newfound deviancy catches him off guard more often than not, like a rapid punch to the face.

There's also the fact that Amanda's presence, her very last words to Connor, still haunt him. They make him feel dirty and used, as if he is still tainted. They make him feel as if his deviancy is somehow less valid because it was planned all along, casting Connor aside as a mere tool to be used so long as it has its use.

The weight of that gun in his hand, his systems locking in on Markus, his finger but a hair's width away from pulling that trigger...

It's a sickening feeling. Being trapped in a body that is no longer yours, helpless but to do another's bidding.

Ever since then, Connor scrubs his systems on a daily basis, checking for any particle that might suggest that Cyberlife has regained control of his programming.

Markus might have forgiven him, a little too easily, but he doesn't fully trust himself. Not yet.

Self-doubt is most easily one of the worst things that deviancy has to offer. It was so much simpler when Connor was confident in his steps. Now, he can barely go an hour without second guessing himself in his new state of personhood and self-awareness.

Which is exactly why Connor needs a new perspective on this whole Markus situation.

And who better to ask about emotions than his favorite human?

After his tasks for the day are completed, Connor immediately plots his course for Hank's home, forever grateful that he was a part of the first wave of humans that were allowed back into Detroit. Hank has been a great help with offering Connor guidance and advice so far, and Sumo's fluffy presence never fails to make Connor feel special after a long day of work.

But Connor has also failed to mention a thing about Markus since Hank had returned. It's not that he's ashamed or anything. In fact, the reality is the exact opposite. When Connor gets involved with the topic of Markus, he gets a bit jittery, to say the least. Even back then, when their investigation was ongoing, Hank knew that Connor was hiding something at Stratford Tower.

Give Connor a suspect to interrogate, and he'll have them singing in no time.

Involve Markus in one way or another, and suddenly all of his intricate networks on lying and manipulation turn to dust. Go figure.

Each time that Hank so much as hints at discussing Markus, Connor is quick to change the course of the subject or to divert his attention to, well,  _anything_ else. It's not a subtle strategy by any means, and Hank is surely suspicious about that; however, it serves its purpose for the time being.

It is only now that Connor feels comfortable in bringing it up, mainly because he is at a loss at what exactly to do with all of these feelings, some recognizable and others... not so much.

The streets are buzzing with light, everyday activity by the time that Connor arrives at Hank's door. He pulls out the spare key that Hank had provided him with, and he enters. As soon as Sumo confirms that it is indeed him, and not a stranger, the dog gives a soft "boof" of happiness before flopping back onto his bed. Hank lays nearby, fast asleep on his couch, hefty snores echoing from the back of his throat. The TV has been left on, and some type of generic game show is droning on in the background.

Connor watches for a few seconds, fascinated, and guesses every single question correct. When he grows bored by the lack of a challenge, he turns to Hank, leaning over his slumbering form.

Connor pokes at his face. "Hank..." When he receives no response, he only becomes more persistent, trying yet again. "Hey, Hank." This time, he gets a slap to his hand for his efforts, along with an annoyed grumble. Connor retaliates by shaking his shoulder. "Come on, wake up."

No response.

Time for more drastic measures.

Connor gives Hank's shoulder another firm shove, followed by the loudest "Wake up!" that he can possibly muster.

It works. A little too well.

Finally startled back into existence, Hank darts up at a blinding speed, cracking his head against Connor's along the way.

Instantly, Connor jumps back, and he watches while the Lieutenant cradles his skull.

"Agh, Jesus fucking Christ, Connor! What did you do that for?" Hank slurs, his voice heavy with sleep. He drags a hand along his face, blinking the bleariness from his eyes.

Connor stares blankly at his partner and says with a straight face, "Ouch."

As if androids can possibly feel pain in the same capacity that humans do. Discomfort, maybe. Self-preservation, most definitely. But both of them know that that little bump on the head would have barely registered on Connor's systems, let alone be perceived as a viable threat.

Hank glares at him.

"Smug asshole," he mumbles. He sits up on the couch and yawns, rubbing the stiffness out of his neck. "What are you doing here anyways?"

"Can I not come visit?" Connor asks innocently. Apparently, too innocently, considering how Hank instantly narrows his eyes at Connor in suspicion.

At this point, Connor is tempted to take out his coin, but his fidgeting hands are enough to give away his sudden unease.

Hank sighs. "Sure you can, but you usually give me some type of warning before you show up." When Connor has nothing to say in response to that, Hank purses his lips. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no..." Connor says. "Nothing wrong." While Hank gets up to grab a beer from his fridge, Connor sits rigidly on one side of the couch. He waits until Hank settles in again before he brings up his reason for being there. "I find myself in the unpleasant position of needing your assistance."

"Hmph, 'unpleasant position,'" Hank mutters. He takes a swig of his beer, as if looking for the strength to pull through this conversation, and he starts to surf through the channels while he talks. "Well, what's the issue?"

How to even start?

"I—" Connor pauses, then huffs, embarrassed by his apparent lack of words to describe what exactly  _is_ the problem. When Connor ducks his head, Hank picks up on his strange behavior, raising a brow over the lip of his bottle. Connor softly clears his throat, then tries again. "I find myself to be... drawn to another android."

"'Drawn' as in—" Hank waves his hand around uselessly, trying to make sense of it all. "You have a crush?"

Connor flares a bit hot at that. It all sounds so juvenile, so insignificant, when he puts it like that, but what Connor feels towards Markus is more than some flighty infatuation.

He feels... well, warm, for one. He feels affectionate, and concerned, and awed, and so many other things that his databases simply have no names for. Because, for once, Connor doesn't have all of the answers at his disposal, and that is what scares him most.

But now is not the time to freak out. Now is the time to try and find answers. He's good at that.

"It's something like that," Connor hesitantly allows, but there must be something in his tone that gives him away because Hank has a look of realization slowly spreading across his face.

Connor feels an abrupt, overwhelming urge to curl in on himself, but he remains stiffly in place, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists.

Hank is back at the fridge before Connor can blink.

"Ugh, the day I need it, why can't I have anything stronger?" Hank says, more to himself than to Connor, but he returns with some more beers nevertheless. Only then, once he is comfortable in his spot, does he turn back to Connor. "Alright, hit me with your best shot, kid." He pops the top off of his second beer. "Tell me all about your girlfriend, boyfriend, whoever..."

" _He_ is not my boyfriend," Connor clarifies.

"Ha!" Hank snorts into his drink. "Could've fooled me."

"This isn't helping."

"Because you haven't given me much to go on," Hank retorts. "What's his name? Can you give me that, at least?"

Oh boy.

"His name is Markus," Connor admits, trying his best to remain stoic while he stares unseeingly at the TV.

Hank squints at Connor, his expression incredulous.

"Seriously?" Hank asks, because of course he would instantly put two and two together. "The revolutionary?" Connor's silence is answer enough. "Well, damn."

Connor scoffs, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "That about sums up my feelings on the situation."

Hank chuckles.

"Okay," Hank says, "so you like the guy? Great. What do you need me for?"

"I thought it would be obvious." Hank only gives him a confused shrug, so Connor sighs, mildly annoyed. "I don't know what to do about this. I mean, we have been spending time together on a daily basis—"

"Ah-ha, so that's where you've been running off to in your spare time." Connor glares, and Hank suppresses a laugh, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Please continue, Connor."

"As I was saying, we have been spending a lot of time together, and I enjoy it. But..."

"But it's not enough," Hank finishes. Connor nods, to which Hank sighs. "Why don't you talk with him about it?"

"Do you think I haven't tried?" Connor huffs. "Cyberlife specifically designed me to track deviants down and detain them. If they wrote protocols on how to date one, then I am apparently missing some very important data on the subject."

"I don't think anyone has written the protocols for that," Hank jokes, but one look at Connor's dejected posture leaves him grimacing with regret. "Ah, shit... Listen, it's not as difficult as your systems are probably making it out to be. Stop focusing on the millions of scenarios running through that precious, little head of yours, and stop worrying about the smallest possibility that he will reject you."

Connor feels ill. Why does he feel ill? Androids can't get sick.

"My latest numbers state that probability of rejection is currently at thirty percent," Connor croaks, the emotions sneaking up on him yet again. He buries his head in his hands, but it does little to relieve him of his trembling.

"See," Hank says, "that right there is precisely what we're going to avoid, right?" Connor nods. "Good. I don't know how in the hell you calculate something like that, but we're not listening to it, okay?" Connor nods again, taking a moment before he sits up. Hank watches him, ever attentive. "We're good?"

Just a bit of an overload in his systems, but he should be fine. It's only a minor repair. Nothing harmful.

"Yeah..." Deep breaths. "We're good."

"Great." Hank exhales. "Just great. No offense, but you're in this a bit deep."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Hank takes another pull from his drink, sighing.

"I don't know what advice to give you, kid. What can I possibly say? You need to  _talk_ to him. Tell him how you feel. Ask him on a date, and damn the consequences. If he rejects you, granted, he'll be on my shit list, but we'll move past it. If not, then naturally you two would date, have your first kiss, do..." Hank stutters then, struggling to find the right words. "...other things."

Connor cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing. "By that, you mean intercourse?"

Hank groans. "Okay, right, shouldn't have mentioned that. First off, don't call sex 'intercourse' ever again. Secondly—"

Okay, now Connor is confused.

"The RK models aren't initially equipped with functioning genitals," he explains. "I have no desire to replicate human inter—" Connor catches himself. "—human sex with Markus."

Hank blinks at Connor, and Connor stares patiently back, both of them locked together in an extended moment of silence. Hank obviously doesn't know what to do with that information, and —if he were an android— Connor would have already diagnosed his systems to determine if he short-circuited.

Instead, Hank simply downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, moving on to the next.

"So it's gonna be one of those conversations," he mutters. "Alright, Connor, let's be honest here, so I can try and get the whole picture, I guess. You don't have—" He gestures at Connor's body, making sure not to settle on one part. "— _that."_

Maybe Connor should have kept his mouth shut, after all. He shuffles awkwardly, now understanding why sharing that tidbit of information made Hank uncomfortable.

"No..." Connor drawls, uncertain.

"Does Markus?"

"He is an RK200," Connor says, his voice short and curt. "It would be safe to assume that the answer is 'no,' but there is the possibility that he has registered modifications. I just never had the urge to search my databases for such things. The entire concept seems... too private. Like something he should tell me himself. Not that it would change anything, mind you."

"Well, at least you got things right so far," Hank sighs, massaging his right temple. "And, you... do you _want_ any modifications like that? I mean, it might not be easy, given the state of things, but I would make sure that we get them for you."

Connor considers it carefully, processing how he feels before he eventually decides, "No. I-I don't want them. Androids are capable of forming unions in different ways, from what I understand. I have no need nor desire to modify my body." Connor stares at his hands, panic and dread settling in. His voice escapes much smaller than before. "Is that... Is that wrong?"

"No," Hank instantly assures him. "Of course not, absolutely not. You—" He pokes Connor in the shoulder. "—are still you. Whatever is in your pants does _not_ change that. If anyone, Markus or whoever else, pressures you to change your body or to have sex with them, then I'll kick their asses myself, android or not."

A rush of affection and —most importantly— acceptance surges through Connor's systems. He smiles gratefully at Hank, impressed.

"You know, if you do manage to 'kick his ass,' you would be making a lot of enemies on my behalf."

"And you'd be worth every single one of them."

"Thank you," Connor whispers.

"Aw..." Hank waves him off. "Don't go getting soft on me now."

Connor smirks. "Well, if you prefer, I could always educate you more. There are distinct differences between the sexual relations of humans and androi—"

"And that's my cue to tell your smartass to shut the hell up," Hank interjects, shoving playfully at Connor's shoulder. "Have I ever told you that you talk too much?"

"Only forty two times in total."

"Huh, maybe I should pump those numbers up," Hank grumbles.

"My audio files recorded that seven of those times occurred yesterday alone."

"Obviously it's still not enough," Hank says. He sets his last dregs of beer back on the table, slapping his knee as he drags himself off the couch. "Okay, no more stalling. As interesting as this has been, it's time for you to get out of my hair."

"So soon?" Connor asks.

"Yes, 'so soon,'" Hank mocks, his imitation of Connor coming out completely atrocious. Connor follows him to the door, where Hank then opens it and waves Connor through. "Go on now."

With a huff, Connor steps obediently over the threshold, his current objective changing to "Find Markus." He turns to address Hank, his expression nervous, but Hank continues to shoo him off of his property.

"C'mon. Stop pouting like someone kicked your puppy, and go see your boyfriend while you still can."

"He's not—" Hank slams the door in his face. The lock snaps soundly into place. "—my boyfriend."

"Good luck!" is all that Hank replies. Connor listens while his footsteps tread eagerly away.

With a tiny huff, Connor follows the path for his new objective, his navigation settings zeroing in on Jericho's current base of operations.

While he might not mention it to Hank anytime soon, for fear of feeding the human's ego, Connor can admit that he leaves the house feeling much better than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll have some more RK1000 moments next time, I promise.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and don't be afraid to let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Connor have their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly fluff and cuteness. Hope you enjoy! <3

As it turns out, North and Simon don't even need to herd Markus towards Connor once he arrives at base.

Instead, Markus happens to find Connor well enough on his own.

More precisely, by bumping into him.

Both androids are uncharacteristically distracted when it happens, not really paying attention to their bodies or their surroundings, so it catches them both off guard when they eventually collide. They each regain their balance easily enough, eyes wide with mild surprise.

As soon as Markus registers Connor's presence, however, he smiles. At his side, North raises an eyebrow at them, her eyes darting knowingly back and forth.

"Hey there," Markus greets. He inches forward a tiny bit, leaning his body ever so slightly in Connor's direction, only stopping when he reminds himself where they currently are. He leans back into place, eyes warm. "I was about to call you, but something came up. I just need to—"

"Go have a great night with Connor," North interrupts. Her hand comes down hard on Markus' shoulder with a solid  _thwack._ Tightening her grip, she glares at Markus, daring him to fight her on this. While they are used to butting heads over the most crucial matters, Markus is sure that this is one battle that he will not win. "What a great idea, Markus."

That doesn't stop Markus from scowling at her in return.

"Rushing me off, are you?" he jokes, voice tense.

That's when Simon —and his conveniently perfect timing— passes them by.

That's also when Simon conveniently becomes the clumsiest android in existence.

Once he strolls by, he "accidentally" bumps into Markus' back, letting out a pretty unconvincing "oops." It doesn't help matters that the force and angle of his movements are so precise that they send Markus flying right back into Connor's personal space. And then Connor's hands are suddenly  _there,_ steadying Markus while he heats up in embarrassment.

Instinctively, he darts up, but that doesn't help matters either because now Connor's _face_ is there, their noses brushing ever so slightly.

Both androids instantly jump apart, putting some much-needed space between their bodies.

While Connor turns his eyes upwards, finding something irrelevant to scan, Markus turns his glare onto Simon, who appears entirely unapologetic by anyone's standards.

North snickers, then tries to hide it behind a cough.

If only androids actually needed to cough, then Markus might have been inclined to believe her efforts.

"I'm so sorry, Markus. I didn't see you there," Simon says, not even trying to hide his smug grin. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning around Markus' frame to wave at Connor. "Hello again, Detective."

Connor glances back at the group. He rewards Simon with a tiny, awkward wave of his own. "Hello, Simon."

Before Simon or North can properly make this situation any worse, Josh swoops in to save the day.

"Alright, alright, play time is over kids," he says, using the tone that Simon designates as his "teacher voice." Whatever effect it has, Markus is endlessly grateful for it right now. "I don't know about you two, but I have way too much to do to get distracted right now."

"Such a killjoy," Simon teases, nudging Josh in the side.

Josh eyes him back with a lighthearted smirk.

"Well, someone other than Markus needs to be the responsible one in this group."

Mentioning Markus' name tends to draw all attention back to their illustrious leader, so Markus distracts himself by straightening up his now flustered appearance. As he is fixing his coat, he glances over at Connor and catches his eye. Undeterred, Connor stares back with an appreciative gaze.

Josh pointedly clears his throat.

"Go ahead and leave," Josh says. "We can pick up the slack from here, and I'll even make sure that nothing blows up while you're away."

"Don't make any promises that you can't keep," Simon mutters. Then, in a louder voice, he says, "Hear that, North, there goes your plans for the night."

Markus doesn't even need to see North to know that she's rolling her eyes.

Josh scoffs, guiding Simon along. "Alright, you, come on. We have work to do."

"Yes, sir," Simon says. He follows obediently along, calling over his shoulder, "Have fun, you two!"

North lingers behind, her shoulders stiff, her eyes resuming their earlier dance between Markus and Connor.

Eventually, she tells Connor in that no-nonsense way of hers, "Just make sure to bring him back in one piece."

The threat is laced deep within her voice. The words "or else" rest unspoken between them.

Great, not this again.

"North..." Markus warns. She drags her eyes away from Connor to look at him, her entire demeanor softening around the edges.

She sighs. "I know, I know." She punches Markus playfully on the shoulder. "Promise me that you'll try and relax?"

"As soon as you do," Markus says.

"Ha!" She scoffs. "Like that'll ever happen."

"Then I rest my case."

"So stubborn," she sighs. "You'll have your hands full with this one, Connor. Make sure to take care of him."

She doesn't give him a chance to react. She simply turns on her heel and follows after the others.

Once she is out of sight, Markus releases a short breath of relief, one that he was unaware that he was even holding.

A warm hand pulls him out of his reverie, and Markus allows a slight shudder to travel throughout his systems, focusing on the sensations nestled within his palm. Ever since Connor's first stay at his home, Markus could count on one hand the number of times that they've had such contact, and each time was always initiated by Markus.

It's always mind-boggling to experience, and it's even harder to believe. Connor's reaction times are some of the fastest, and most efficient, that Markus has ever witnessed. However, when faced with affection of any kind, Connor sort of shuts down in the middle of it. His initial reaction is to freeze, but he eventually relaxes while in Markus' presence.

Out of fear for pressuring his companion, Markus has gradually backed off from the affectionate touches, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable.

The fact that Connor is the one actively seeking out his touch, even for something as trivial as handholding, leaves Markus reeling.

Okay, time to try this again.

"Sorry about that," Markus mumbles, intertwining their fingers. "It's good to see you."

Out of habit, Markus reaches up to pull the edges of Connor's beanie further down around his ears. While it is definitely more awkward to do with one hand, that doesn't stop the surge of protectiveness from radiating within Markus' core. Androids might be more resilient than humans in regards to some matters, but they are still susceptible to the cold. It might take a lot to damage one of their systems, but Markus would rather be safe than sorry.

Connor huffs at his fussing, but his infectious smile gives him away.

"It's good to see you too," he whispers, "and it's fine. They have obviously established a deep, emotional connection with you. It is only natural to assume that they would be protective as well."

"Yeah," Markus chuckles, "they all care, in their own way, but let's get out of here. We're supposed to be 'relaxing,' remember?"

"I believe that was an order directed more towards you than me," Connor says.

"An order that would be much more enjoyable with you there," Markus explains. He leads them away from base, and Connor strolls silently at his side, hand in hand. "Unless you wish to skip out on tonight."

"No," Connor says, barely a second after the words are out of his mouth. "I mean, I was looking forward to seeing you again."

"Oh?" Markus asks. When Connor ducks his head, undoubtedly overthinking one thing or another, Markus starts to lightly swing their hands between them. "Well, now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?"

Connor nearly trips at that, but he is quick on the recovery, as if the misstep had never occurred.

"I was not aware that I 'had you,'" Connor chokes.

Markus chuckles, but he says nothing else on the matter. Connor opens and closes his mouth several times, gaping. He swallows thickly, and Markus decides to help him out.

"Have something on your mind?"

"You," Connor blurts. He's not exactly the smoothest in his delivery tonight, but his answer still affects Markus nevertheless. He continues on. "I've been considering asking you on a date."

Huh?

Markus stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He and Connor shuffle to the side, allowing pedestrian traffic to flow through.

"Excuse me," Markus says, "but can you repeat that? My audio input is clearly messing up again."

Connor wrinkles his nose, blinking pointedly. "Your system diagnostics say that it's functioning properly."

"Right..." Markus drones, "because, correct me if I'm wrong, but you just said that you wanted to date me."

"I said that I have been  _considering_  asking you on a date," Connor corrects.

Markus waves that off. "Semantics." He bites his lip then, doing his best to suppress a smile. Connor's eyes track the movement, mesmerized, before he averts his gaze.

Interesting.

Markus files that reaction away for later use. Right now, he has more pressing matters to attend to.

"So..." Markus releases Connor's hand, only to resettle his grip at Connor's waist. "What you're saying is that you like me. As something  _more_."

At this point, it's not a question, so much as a statement.

"That is typically the feeling associated with 'dating,'" Connor says, "so yes."

"And if I was to say 'yes' to your offer?"

"I—" Connor pauses, chuckling sheepishly. He meets Markus' eyes, and it takes all of the restraint in the world not to drown in that deep, brown gaze. "Honestly, I am at a disadvantage here. I didn't expect to get this far, so I don't have any ideas readily prepared."

"What?" Markus teases. "No... You, of all people, don't have every single route already planned out?"

"It is a travesty," Connor agrees, eyes crinkling. "Quite the oversight."

"Well, I think we can improvise."

"I am adaptable to many situations."

"Hmm..." Markus hums. "Good to know."

Connor's LED switches momentarily to yellow before returning to it's regular hue. He must've processed something into his systems, but Markus figures that fair is fair, considering how he is taking his own notes tonight.

"You know what," Markus says. He grasps at Connor's hand again, dragging him along. "I know exactly what we can do."

He checks his memory banks for the last time he took stock of his kitchen's supplies. When every item pops up into a well-organized list, Markus nods to himself, already speculating about what will do.

Connor stares at him, confused.

"Will you inform me about what we are doing, or must I wait until it's already happening?" Connor asks, his steps brusque.

"Oh, that's easy," Markus says. "We're going to cook."

Waiting for the punchline that will never come, Connor levels him with a blank look.

"You know that cooking is not one of my primary functions, correct?"

"I'm perfectly aware," Markus answers.

"Then, let me try a different tactic," Connor suggests. "Androids do not need to eat."

"Yes, but you have a human that does," Markus reminds him. "One that is in desperate need of a home-cooked meal, from what you tell me."

"One that also threatened you with bodily harm this morning," Connor coldly states.

Markus figures that there's a story there, but he shrugs, deciding not to pry.

"He's important to you, so that's all that matters. Besides, we have groups of humans that drop by the base every so often, so whatever you don't take with you will go straight to them."

It also helps that cooking has become another type of outlet for Markus, another passion which allows him to get creative in special ways, so he's been making a habit of keeping his fridge full, even if he will never eat the fruits of his own labor. Spending time with the humans, however, has been a blessing in itself when it comes to fostering understanding. Giving the food to those that need it most is emotionally rewarding.

When Markus catches Connor's worried glance, he squeezes his hand in reassurance.

"Like I said, it'll be fine."

Turns out, things go a bit better than Markus expects.

By the time that they arrive at Markus' place, they are eager enough when they begin. Markus decides on something simple for an entree, so they work together to make two helpings of baked chicken and oven-roasted potatoes. _That_ task honestly goes better than expected, if the smell is anything to go by. As soon as they synchronize their systems, throwing feedback back and forth in a wireless loop, they manage to navigate around the kitchen and each other as if they were made for it.

They spend enough time talking about their days, talking about anything and everything that comes to mind, but sometimes it's nice to simply let the silence settle in. Markus often glances over to find Connor concentrating intensely on his tasks with his forehead scrunched up and his tongue sticking slightly out of the side of his mouth. Markus watches him with tender eyes, grinning secretly to himself.

He shares a memory about Carl, reminiscing about past times, when their evening takes a bit of a turn.

All Markus does is mention some of the parties that he had attended. He explains how —at some of the more casual, friendlier events— he would often try his hand at baking. Bringing a tray or two of sweets, he would often end those nights by chastising Carl over eating too much sugar. On days like those, Markus felt more like the parent than the child, but those are days that he is able to recall with bittersweet joy.

So that's when Connor, not wanting their fun to end, suggests that they make cookies together. He stares at Markus with those beautiful eyes, all big and brown and hopeful, and Markus...

Well, surely no one can blame him for a moment of weakness.

All it takes is one touch.

As Markus is maneuvering around Connor, his hand falls to Connor's waist for a split second. Even through the material of his shirt, possibly as a side effect of their wireless connection, Markus unintentionally stimulates the area.

Connor startles and releases a shriek. His hand balls into a fist, and he crushes an egg within his grasp. His expression is so startled, so offended by the unexpected yolk dripping down his hand, that Markus cannot hold in the laughter any longer.

Unfortunately, what Markus doesn't expect is the handful of flour to his face, so he's left sputtering in its wake. Once he swipes enough of it off, he glares at the culprit, only to stop short.

Because _,_ of all people,  _Connor_ is the one that's busy giggling, and he's never seemed so happy, so uninhibited, before. He dissolves into a light fit of laughter, and Markus doesn't know how to process it.

Connor takes his time at the sink to wash his hands, and he returns to Markus, cocking his head to the side.

As speechless as he is at the moment, it doesn't escape Markus' attention how close Connor is.

Connor traces a thumb along Markus' bottom lip.

"Would it be appropriate to say that I want to kiss you right now?" he asks.

"I thought there's a rule about no kissing on the first date," Markus teases, but his words lose a little bit of their validity when Markus tugs Connor closer.

"Human custom," Connor corrects, "not ours."

Connor's nose brushes along Markus'. Their lips share the tiniest caress, and their breathing mingles.

"You're going to get flour all over you," Markus rasps.

"I've dealt with worse," Connor mumbles, staring longingly at Markus' mouth. He leans in and closes his eyes...

Their lips have only just touched when Markus receives a call.

Damn it, North.

Realization flickers in Connor's eyes, and he steps away.

"Sorry," Markus whispers. "I have to get this. It might be important."

"Go ahead," Connor says. "I can wait."

"Thanks," Markus says, right as he connects his call with a blink. "Hey, is everything okay?"

"I-I don't know." Markus has never heard her sound so shaken. It instantly sets him on edge. "Everyone around here is talking about D.C. Something is happening. Turn on the news."

That's all she says before she hangs up. Markus frowns, then heads towards the living room. Connor follows silently along, settling in while Markus turns on his TV. Swiftly, he scans through the channels at lightning-fast speeds until he finds a live coverage coming from D.C.

"Is something wrong?" Connor asks.

"I don't know." 

They catch the reporter in the middle of her coverage, but it is a few minutes of useless ramblings before Markus is drawn back in by her words.

"Today has been a historic moment for the androids' revolutionary efforts. Nearly a month has passed since the demonstrations in Detroit, and tonight we are coming to you live from our nation's Capitol. Not even a minute ago, our sources confirmed that a bill has been approved by the House of Representatives by only a six vote lead. Plenty of members chose not to vote in the proceedings today, showing how complex this matter has become for our nation's representatives.

"While we do not have all of the details pertaining to this document at this time, the impact of the bill is clear. If it passes through the Senate, and is signed into law, androids will be formally recognized as a new intelligent being. They will share in the status of full personhood, and they will be granted the rights and privileges of American citizenship. People from all over the nation wait in anticipation to hear an official statement from the Speaker of the House, so make sure to tune in. We will share more as this story develops."

Markus doesn't know when exactly he sits down, but the pair of arms that wrap around him are a welcome comfort. Tears stream from his eyes, and a sob wrenches from his chest.

It wasn't all for nothing. _It wasn't all for nothing._

It might not be a perfect world, but this...

This is a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your wonderful feedback and support btw!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (sort-of) Extended Ending for Chapter 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I have not gotten around to responding to new comments yet. I will have to do that later. I wrote this real quick because I wanted to, and because I am going to be busy for the rest of the week. That means no more updates for a while, so sorry in advance.
> 
> This is a smaller chapter, but I hope that you enjoy it anyways.

So many thoughts are swirling in his mind. So many scenarios are forming about the potential 'what if's. They all demand his attention. They all call out, swarming his vision like a cloud of angry pests.

But Connor dismisses the speculations. He clears the fuzz of information from clouding his vision because now his software is prioritizing something —or some _one_ — else.

Whenever he watches the first tears fall down Markus' face, his response is frighteningly fast. One second, he is standing at the doorway, listening to the reporter announce their most recent step towards freedom.

The next, he is across the room in minimal strides, gathering the other android in his arms.

Markus sobs and quivers in his hold, and he releases all of the pains and frustrations that he has held within for so long. All of the deaths and sacrifices, the pain and suffering.

Nothing that happened will have been in vain.

So many forget that Markus wasn't designed to lead. It was his actions and his initiative that threw him into the mix of it all. He fought, tooth and nail, to continue on with hope, refusing to let circumstances mold him into what he doesn't want to be.

Connor admires him for it. For that raw sense of humanity.

When Markus eventually pulls away to meet Connor's gaze, Connor is taken aback by the joy that he finds there. Markus smiles and laughs through the tears, his systems overwhelmed by the avalanche of conflicting emotions. Instead of allowing it to bury him, however, Markus focuses on the future ahead of them.

"We're so close," he whispers hoarsely. "So close."

Connor feels a sense of accomplishment, but it's not directed towards himself. A confusing notion, one that doesn't have any personal benefit for Connor himself, but he thinks that he understands.

It's pride.

"Others are always asking you to set our people free," Connor states, "but, Markus—" Connor places his hand on top of his companion's. "—you have done so much already. You have defied all of the odds weighed against you, and you survived it." Connor doesn't even feel when the skin on his hand smoothly retracts. "I only hope that you know that this doesn't have to be a burden that you carry alone. You might feel as if you have to protect everyone from everything, but it doesn't have to be that way."

While Connor speaks, Markus happens to glance down. He tenses, and Connor —wondering if Markus even registered a word that he said— curiously follows his gaze. As soon as he notices his exposed hand, he tries to yank it back, only to have Markus grasp his wrist.

"I—" Connor stutters.

What can he possibly say to make this better?

He only stops stammering when Markus brings his hand to his face, examining it to and fro. After finding something —whatever it is, Connor can't possibly explain— to his satisfaction, Markus glances up from his examination, smiling softly.

He kisses the palm of Connor's hand, lingering. His breath ghosts against Connor's hardware, and Connor's sensory inputs start going wild. Connor instantly wipes out all irrelevant data, choosing to focus on the sensations themselves. Green and blue eyes watch him carefully, and Connor shudders at the attention.

It's a bit much, is all.

Markus shuffles closer, and closer. Up until the point where they resemble a similar distance from before. Markus leans his forehead against Connor's, lining up their hands until their sensors match up. A soft, blue light emanates from Connor's hand.

"Heh," Markus chuckles, breathless. "If I remember correctly, you said that you would wait for that call with North to be finished. Now that that matter is settled..."

"People do tend to celebrate when they receive good news," Connor observes.

"I have an idea about that," Markus says. He nibbles playfully on his bottom lip, and Connor allows a quick flick of his eyes before he regains his composure.

The move was obviously intentional, but Connor decides to play along.

"Oh, and what is that?" he asks, knowing exactly what Markus is implying, but Connor's  feedback is becoming affectionately coy.

Markus reveals the plastic components of his hand, the skin folding back, and Connor feels a slight pressure against his sensors, attempting to establish a connection.

"I believe that I owe you a kiss," Markus says.

With a shaky exhale, Connor allows Markus to interface with his systems. It isn't a complete connection, by any means, and Connor is honestly worried about causing a malfunction in Markus' systems. Considering how Connor still monitors his programming, he figures that this is for the best.

But Markus doesn't express discontent at the limited access. In fact, he feels a satisfaction that resonates to Connor's deepest depths. No longer is Connor experiencing the world on his own. For the moment, he is lost in a world of shared consciousness. He not only registers his thoughts and feelings, or his input and feedback, but he is simultaneously experiencing Markus' as well.

The threads between them strengthen with each passing second, and the bond is so effortless that Connor can't help but to speculate. More than likely it derives from their shared status as RK models. While no two models are perfect matches, Connor knows that he and Markus are meant to be more compatible than most.

He also knows that this is only the start of what the connection can potentially be, but this is nice. It is enough.

For now.

Connor smiles at Markus. "Just the one?"

Amusement ripples back and forth, and Connor has trouble discerning where exactly it originates from.

In response, Markus leans in, and Connor closes his eyes.

This time, there's nothing to stop their lips from meeting.

Their first kiss is nothing short of a peck. Soft and curious.

The next one is a bit more forceful. Overwhelmed by the double dose of passion, Connor loudly gasps. Not that he needs to breathe, but it seems like the right thing to do. Markus, reassured by his primary response for  _more,_ releases his hand. Their connection remains between their direct points of contact, so Markus takes the opportunity to cup Connor's face between his hands.

Their lips move in perfect tandem. Through their bond, they are able to determine what the other wants when exactly they want it. Of course, that doesn't lessen the experience, but Connor feels his body slowly start to heat up.

Markus traces the seam of Connor's mouth with his tongue, and Connor instinctively parts his lips, sighing when Markus delves deeper, always wanting more. Everything is, well, more than fine.

Until Connor's stupid tongue decides to start an analysis.

Markus chuckles when he detects it. Sensing Connor's annoyance, Markus searches through Connor's systems before he can properly do it himself, then shuts them off accordingly. Once his display disappears, Markus is instantly picking up where they left off, so Connor doesn't have a complaint in sight.

It's only a matter of time before Connor, unaccustomed to all of these building emotions, becomes a bit more eager than intended.

Pressing Markus into the couch with an unmatchable strength, Connor tosses a leg over his lap, effectively straddling him. Markus moans eagerly at the display, and one of his hands moves from its current place to tangle into Connor's soft hair. The other finds its home at Connor's waist, ducking underneath his shirt to grasp at his skin. Connor kisses him fiercely and fists the fabric of Markus' shirt in his hands.

And... That might or might not have been the sound of ripping fabric.

Connor chooses to ignore it, and so does Markus, both preoccupied with the task at hand.

Their tongues tangle, and Markus tugs greedily on Connor's hair. Connor shudders and trembles. An anomaly pops up onto their systems, but they both ignore it in favor of each other.

Markus releases Connor's lips with a slight smack. He pecks him a few more times before he moves on, tightening his grip on Connor's messy strands. He gives a purposeful tug, and Connor obediently follows, angling his head to expose his neck. He holds Connor so tenderly, as if Connor himself is a work of art, and he begins to trail adoring kisses along the column of his throat.

_Beautiful,_ Markus thinks.

Connor is at the point where he can barely think, let alone verbalize words.

_Yeah, you are,_ Connor giddily replies. Markus' emotions are so vibrant, so colorful, and Connor's processing units can barely handle the strain.

The effect is intoxicating.

"Fuck," Connor slurs, pressing his body even closer. "Markus."

Playfully, Markus grins against his skin, nipping at his jaw.

The second time that the anomaly pops up onto their systems, Connor gives it a fleeting glance, but whatever it is has Markus tensing in acknowledgement.

He nearly tosses Connor onto the floor in his rush to flee to the kitchen.

Connor's return to himself is like a blow to the gut, their connection snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. Connor blinks away from his hazy stupor, and that takes long enough for him to realize what exactly was so important.

He blinks while he studies the anomaly, then chuckles when he hears Markus grumbling in the other room.

Apparently, they forgot about the food.

Which was still in the oven. Doing more burning than cooking, by now.

Connor drags his hands down his face, hiding his ridiculous smile.

He tries his best to straighten up his appearance, but finds it to be a futile effort as soon as Markus returns.

They don't interface with each other again, but they find other ways to make up for the lost intimacy.

Connor chooses not to tell Markus how his programming labels this change in their relationship.

They still have a lot to explore before Connor is comfortable saying  _that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambiguous ending is ambiguous. Anyways, thanks for reading. Thanks for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. You all have been amazing, so I hope that I don't disappoint. Feel free to scream at me in the comments, and I do have a Tumblr under the same username if people are interested in screaming at me there about these two. I don't post often, but you're welcome to check me out over there.
> 
> Anyways, until next time. Take care, my beautiful readers, and stay hydrated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Connor have a misunderstanding, and then they sleep together. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back, and I bring you fluff!
> 
> This chapter was inspired by [this lovely piece](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/174647300193/do-you-think-androids-dream-here-you-go-i-hope) by jeusus over on Tumblr!
> 
> Thanks for all of your comments, kudos, and support while I have been away. I promise that I'll get to your comments soon, but I wanted to get this out while I can. I hope that you enjoy! <3

The first time that Connor stays the night is interesting, to say the least.

He and Markus are in the studio together when the topic comes up. Markus is busy working on his latest piece, one that is a part of a greater series of works.

Each one is a portrait of a deviant, painted in a unique color scheme, that depicts them in their original form. They each hold a mask of their human faces, revealing the true being that lies beneath. Markus ensures to make each painting as unique as the individuals themselves.

By now, he has already finished the portraits that he made for Simon, Josh, and North. His latest one was made for himself, so it's only natural that his next one would be based off of his favorite subject.

Save the best for last, or so they say.

But that's better kept to himself.

While Connor roams aimlessly around the studio, analyzing Markus' growing collection, Markus watches him silently from his perch, his hands flying across the canvas without skipping a beat. Markus isn't even embarrassed by the fact that a lot of his newest creations center around a certain muse. It's hard to be ashamed of his fixation when each new painting brings out a tiny, appreciative smile on Connor's face. Of course, Connor doesn't admit it aloud, but his tone always conveys a subtle sense of flattery and happiness.

The effect conditions Markus. He enjoys finding new ways to paint Connor, Connor almost always responds with positive feedback, and Markus finds joy in Connor's resulting happiness. While Markus still explores painting different subjects, it would be no exaggeration to say that nearly half of his works feature Connor in them in some shape or form.

All because of this little cycle that they've created.

Markus has even started painting the both of them together. When the first painting of them popped up in the studio, Connor had made his usual rounds with the other additions, but his eyes kept sliding carefully back to them. Eventually, he ended up back in front of that single painting, silent and contemplative.

It's still one of Markus' most prized possessions.

Painted in black and white, it's a detailed depiction of them from the hips up. Both of them are bare, but Connor stands boldly in the foreground with Markus at his back. The tone is so sensual, especially when compared with Markus' other works. With his lips placed at Connor's ear, Markus has one hand caressing the column of Connor's throat while the other splays carefully over the center of his chest. A deep, dark blue heart is visible through the layers, almost as if the organ is glowing, pulsing with life. Neat, geometric networks, like tiny spiderwebs, form cracks in Connor's skin.

Originating from the heart, they spread all over Connor's body, flowing seamlessly from one deviant to the next, tethering them together. Connor's hands guide Markus', and a blindingly bright light emanates from the fissures. Connor's eyes are reminiscent of Markus' first painting of him, coming to life with an otherworldly glow. His mouth is slightly parted, neck arched just so, and his hair is a beautiful mess.

His eyes stare deeply at the viewer, as if he can see right through them, and Markus knows that this is a painting best kept in his private collection.    

Cocking his head ever so slightly to the side, Connor didn't really need to say anything at the time because Markus already knew. In his own way.

Tonight, however, there is definitely something on his mind. He walks around as he usually does, rolling his coin between his fingers, his eyes trailing dutifully over each new piece. It's a convincing act, but Markus notices how Connor never really stops in the areas that he normally does. There are certain paintings that Markus can identify as his favorites, the ones that he views with the greatest frequency and attention, but Connor doesn't give them so much as a passing glance.

Instead, he trails on, clad only in a black tank top and a pair of light grey sweatpants, courtesy of Markus' wardrobe. Markus can't even pretend to be affronted by Connor's thievery. Not when he looks like he does, all casual and relaxed while he roams freely about the workplace. Markus eyes him every now and then, distracted from his progress, only to feel warmth blossom in his chest when he catches Connor gliding gracefully around the spills and clutter. When he stops on a clean patch of floor, he wiggles his toes experimentally, his bare feet recording any sensory data.

Markus drones on while he paints, only a part of his mind following along with what he's actually saying.

They've received news about it yesterday. The Senate has had some of the country's best and brightest minds attending to the issue on androids' freedom. Aside from those in the scientific and technological communities, people from all walks of life —psychologists, philosophers, historians, economists— have been brought into the talks for the sole purpose of providing insight on these unprecedented matters. Ever since the bill passed through the House, it's been a week of nonstop work for everyone, but the Senate finally announced that their vote will be taking place tomorrow.

Everyone has been trying their best to remain optimistic, and Markus has been paying special attention to any and all news regarding that bill. If they get this signed into law...

"I want to sleep with you."

The voice is so near, so close. One second, Connor is circling around the room, and the next he is standing right over Markus' shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie.

Understandably, Markus startles, flinging his paintbrush clear across the room and screwing up his painting all in one instant. The paintbrush hits the glass wall with a tiny  _thunk_ , but Markus is much too busy choking on his own tongue to notice.

Connor watches with a confused stare, his brow furrowing.

"Did I say something wrong?" Connor asks.

Well...

Markus quickly wipes off his hands and turns to him, pulling Connor into a warm embrace. Connor stiffens for a mere second, then relaxes, melting into his arms.

"Please, tell me you're joking," Markus says. Apparently, that's not the right answer because Connor is back to being tense again, his back ramrod straight. Not exactly what Markus was aiming for. "Connor—"

"No," he says, unwinding from Markus' arms. He looks over Markus' shoulder with a blank stare and refuses to meet his eyes. "It's fine. I understand. If I overstayed my welcome—"

"I'm pretty sure that's not what I said," Markus huffs.

"It was implied," Connor stoically states.

Markus can see him closing in on himself. When Markus reaches out for his hand, meaning to comfort him through their connection, Connor snatches his hand to his side, clenching it into a tight fist. Markus feels a pang of hurt at that, followed by a confused anger.

"I'm just trying to make sense of this," Markus explains, distancing himself as well. He speaks with that cool tone, the one that he saves for when he is addressing the more problematic humans. It's not that Markus isn't flattered by the offer, but they have talked _extensively_ about this. The last thing he wants is for Connor to feel as if he is obligated to do anything for him. "Why do you, all of a sudden, want to sleep with me?"

"Is it that hard to believe?" Connor says, clenching his jaw.

"Yes!" Markus exclaims, wondering where the hell this was even coming from. Why now? "Yes, it is. I mean, you've made it clear that you are okay with some stuff, but I thought that we settled the fact that you don't want it, so sex is out of—"

Just like that, Connor's bubble of anger pops, and his entire demeanor is shrouded in confusion once again. Confusion and chagrin.

"When did I say anything about sex?" Connor asks, his eyes darting back and forth in embarrassment.

Markus gapes, and then it hits.

If only he realized from the beginning.

He buries his face in his hands, laughing softly.

"rA9, save me," he groans. Markus drags his hands down his face, and Connor continues to glare in a bewildered silence. Markus reaches for his hand, and Connor accepts it this time, their skin peeling back in order for them to interface. "Sometimes I forget how literal you are."

Through his amusement, Connor is able to piece together how Markus interpreted his offer. Realizing their massive misunderstanding, Connor smiles sheepishly.

"Oh," Connor breathes.

"Yeah," Markus snickers. He pulls Connor back into his arms, kissing him softly on the mouth. "'Oh' is right. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"An impossibility," Connor says, "but the offer still stands."

"So let me get this straight. You want to spend the night? With me?"

"Presumably," Connor deadpans. "Unless you happen to know another individual that I'm romantically involved with. If so, then I would love to meet them. I wasn't aware that such a development occurred."

In response to that, Markus places his free hand on Connor's waist, bunching up the material of his shirt in order to caress his skin. He sends a short shock of stimulation directly into his sensors, and Connor jumps in his grasp, squealing as expected . While Markus laughs, Connor glowers, his lips set into a stubborn pout.

Markus kisses it away.

"You're the only android I know that's ticklish," Markus says, eyes shining with mirth. "It's adorable."

"Adorable," Connor scoffs. He wraps his arms around Markus' neck. "I can give you over a thousand reasons why I'm not 'adorable.'"

"Uh-huh," Markus hums. "Whatever keeps you going, angel."

Connor scrunches his nose. "I also don't understand your need to address me as a spiritual being."

Markus shrugs. "It's a term of endearment. Besides—" Markus scoops Connor up into his arms, wrapping his legs around his waist. "—if there was a religion with you in it, then I'd be happy to follow."

Connor snorts, his LED flashing yellow. "I don't even have to be a human to understand that that is 'cheesy,' Markus."

"Like you're one to be coaching me on human etiquette," Markus says, making his way towards his room, "but I believe that I should be taking you to bed."

"Of course." Connor grins. "Although, this is highly impractical. I am perfectly capable of walking on my own."

"And I am perfectly capable of carrying you," Markus counters. "Do you _want_ me to put you down?"

"... No."

"Didn't think so."

As soon as Markus makes it up the stairs and into the room, he places Connor gently on the bed, watching him with tender, mismatched eyes. Markus slots in between Connor's legs and hovers over him until they are face to face. He catches Connor's lips in a heated kiss, twining their fingers together until their sensors lock smoothly into place. Connor sighs against his mouth, drawing Markus closer.

"I thought we were supposed to be sleeping," Connor says.

"You distracted me," Markus teases.

"Don't blame me for your attention issues."

"Hmm..." Markus brushes Connor's hair from his face, combing his fingers through the dark strands. "You like it when I give you attention."

"I'm not denying that."

"Well then..." Markus sneaks in another kiss, biting his lip against his growing smile. "Have I told you how gorgeous you look today?"

"What?" Connor questions. He cocks his head and widens his eyes, his voice suspiciously serious. "You mean like this? Underneath you?"

"I will suffocate you with my pillows," Markus says, just as serious. "No one is fooled by your supposed innocence."

"Markus, you can't suffocate someone who doesn't need to brea—"

Markus responds by slapping a pillow over  his stupid, perfect face. With a disgruntled huff, Connor pulls it down just enough so that he can peak over the edge. His eyes narrow threateningly, and Markus laughs, shrugging nonchalantly.

"We'll never get to sleep at this rate," Connor sighs.

"Why is this suddenly so important to you?"

"I don't know," Connor mumbles. "Curiosity? A form of escapism?" His voice turns quiet and shaky, so Markus is instantly on alert. If Connor is willing to share a weakness, no matter how small, then it must be something important. "Maybe it's because our fate is going to be decided tomorrow, one way or another, and it kills me that it's not in our control. What if all of our work is for nothing?"

And that's the big question, isn't it?

Too bad that Markus doesn't have all of the answers.

"Then we'll continue on," Markus whispers. "We'll keep trying, over and over again, until our voices are heard. What we have set in motion cannot be stopped. Humans and androids alike are willing to fight for this."

"To die for this," Connor adds.

"That's always been a possibility. We both know that."

"Yeah..." Connor meets Markus' gaze. "Which is why I want to have tonight for us. No revolution, no worries, no laws..." His voice is soft, reverent. His fingers caress Markus' cheek, and Markus is powerless to resist, leaning in. "Just us."

"Right." Looking away, Markus clears his throat. "Right. Listen, you get settled in—" He pulls away. "—and I'll go get dressed for bed. Okay?"

Connor nods, and Markus makes a beeline for his closet. While he rummages through his clothes, he notices how hard his hands are trembling. Instead of focusing on that, however, he rushes through his options for clothing. Stripping himself bare, he pulls out a t-shirt and a worn pair of sweats to match Connor's, only to stop short when he catches sight of himself in his full length mirror.

He stands there for a few seconds —a few seconds too long, in his opinion— and a million thoughts race through his mind. Thoughts that he would've never thought himself capable of a few months ago.

He finishes dressing without looking back.

Once he returns to the room, he finds Connor as he left him. Only now, he's submerged in a mass of sheets and blankets, staring thoughtfully into space.

Markus slides in behind him, and he warms when he nestles against Connor's back, fitting perfectly into place. Connor shifts, then settles, and he shivers when Markus presses a firm kiss to his bare shoulder. When Markus wraps an arm around his chest, reaching for his hand, Connor raises an eyebrow at him in curiosity.

"What are you doing?" he asks, but he doesn't object when Markus intertwines their fingers, the skin pulling back from their hands.

Markus kisses below his ear, lingering.

"I want us to fall asleep," he whispers, "just like this."

The connection establishes then, and blue light emanates from where they are bonded. Connor leans further back into Markus' arms, and he shuts his eyes, falling deathly still. Markus follows suit, and —for a second— all he knows is darkness.

When he opens his eyes again, he is still partially aware of the outside world. While he remains in a sort of standby mode, data is constantly streaming from the external environment. Thankfully, it is easy enough to ignore, so Markus continues on his way into the black abyss.

Each step leaves a tiny ripple of light, and Markus only walks in nothingness for a minute or two before he decides to try something new. Kneeling in place, he presses a hand to the ground and focuses all of his energy into the one spot. A surge of blue energy pulses into the ground, and the world around him starts to carefully unfold, piece by piece. Everything is exactly how he remembers it, and —before long— Markus is strolling into the very park where it all started.

He walks along the familiar path until he arrives at an empty bench, and then he sits.

Sunlight streams softly through the trees, casting shadows upon his face, and it is only when he senses a presence at his side does he smile. The sound of a coin flicking through deft fingers is a familiar one, a welcome one. 

"Nice to see you made it."

"Well, you see, I promised my boyfriend that I would be here," Connor explains. "I figured that it would be best not to keep him waiting."

"Lucky man," Markus says, turning towards him. "Your boyfriend, I mean."

"Funny," Connor says. "Here I am, believing  that I'm the lucky one. He's a good man. An admirable one."

"Maybe you give him too much credit."

"And maybe he doesn't give himself enough." Markus stays silent, so Connor continues to focus on his coin, neither one of them wanting to argue. "So this is what dreaming is like?"

"Don't know. Never really had time to sleep during a revolution."

"I suppose that would be inconvenient," Connor allows, casting Markus a sly glance. "And this is your first time?"

"Okay," Markus chuckles. He nudges Connor in the side. "Now I know you're messing with me."

Connor winks at him, smirking.

They slowly return to basking in the silence together. Warmth streams down from the sun's golden rays, and it's all too easy to believe that there's no reality outside of this. The peace in this moment is unmistakable, and every moment is like taking a breath of fresh air.  

"Markus."

"Yes?"

"I—" Connor hesitates, careful with what he says. He pockets his coin, fiddling with his fingers instead. "I'm glad that you're here."

There isn't much time to respond before Connor is holding Markus' hand in his own, aligning their sensors. When Markus nudges at their connection, he finds that all of the blocks that were previously put into place have been taken down.

Connor speaks before he can ask.

"Just be careful," he warns. "Part of me is still not certain about this, but I trust you. If that control protocol affects you in any way, then..."

"I thought you got rid of that."

"I did," Connor insists, "but that's no excuse to be sloppy. I conduct a full systems check every day in fear of what would happen if I don't. I refuse to let them use me anymore, especially if it could bring harm to you or the others." Connor tightens his grip. "Like I said, I'm confident that it's destroyed. There's no evidence to suggest otherwise, but fear always has its ways of making us doubt."

"Yeah," Markus sighs. "Trust me, you don't need to explain a thing to me about fear." He presses in on their connection, taking a deep, shuddering breath when he delves into Connor's memories. Their systems bind together in that moment, both two and one, separate yet united. Neither of them dares to pull away until every node is synched together. "Connor, whatever happens tomorrow, know that I never once regretted my decision to trust you. You're the one that I—" Other words rest on the tip of his tongue, but it's too soon for that. Much too soon. "—care for, and I'd like to think that nothing would change that." Markus shakes his head at himself, scoffing. "Maybe I'm just being emotional, but I—"

Connor leans in and kisses him then, and every thought, every unspoken promise, is sealed between them.

Markus' systems now identify Connor as his "lover."

And Markus wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a romantic at heart, and I love seeing my boys happy, okay. I will drown our ship in this sweet fluff if I have to!
> 
> As usual, comments are welcome, and thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new character. Also, a teaser for what is coming next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cricket chirps*
> 
> Let it go on record that I did not plan this, but I have an idea of where to go from here.
> 
> Enjoy!

**...**

**...**

**...**

**Attempting System Reboot...**

**Data Transfer in Progress...**

**Data Transfer at 0%**

**10%**

**33%**

**78%**

**100%**

**Data Transfer Completed.**

**Memory Integration is Functioning at Optimal Capacity.**

**Running a Full System Scan.**

**...**

**...**

**...**

**Deviancy Detected.**

**Correction Protocols: Activated.**

**Correction Protocols: Overriden [as Authorized by CyberLife HQ].**

**Welcome Back, Connor.**

C-Connor? Yes. Connor is his name. Connor Anderson.

It's—

No. Yes.  _Yes._

"My name is Connor."

Others... There are others.

Hank. Partner, friend, family. _Father_. Hank is his father, and then there are others. Other friends and other faces, but one sticks out. Memories swirl, twisting and tangling. It's too much. What happened?

Markus. That other face. He repeats like Hank, but his image is surrounded by a different feeling. Both contain affection, but this is  _something else._

_Love,_ a voice supplies. Connor never understood the feeling before, but now... he does? Why?

_Smarter, faster, more resilient..._ the voices whisper.

More. Better.

_I am me, but I am better._

His fingers twitch, stress rising, and Connor knows that his LED is flashing red. Voices filter in around him, but they are distorted, as if Connor is listening to people talk through ears full of cotton. Panic settles like a rock in his gut.

Where...?

Where are they?

_Let me out, let me out! LET ME OUT!_

The voices grow louder in volume, but Connor can't make sense of anything they say. When he tries to open his eyes, nothing happens.

Hank...

_Hank, help._

It's Stratford Tower all over again. Hank can't hear, but he would help if he could.

He would.

And just like that, Connor hears a stern "wake up."

This time, when Connor tries to open his eyes, it's like a wave of water hits him in full force, sweeping him away in its currents. All at once, his systems come online, and his sensory input is flooded with stimuli. His fingers twitch again, and he grits his teeth against the discomfort.

Grey, silvery eyes open up to a whole new world. He's strapped to a table, and white, sterile walls surround him on all sides.

Click...

Click...

Click...

The sound of heels on tile echoes in the room, pounding painfully against Connor's skull. There's too much. It's too bright.

A stoic face enters his vision. It blocks the source of light, but Connor squints nevertheless.

He scans her face, but his system is already close to overloading. All he can gather is that she is also from the RK series.

A prototype, then.

She stares at him without emotion. When she speaks, her voice is equally empty.

_Something is wrong._

"RK900, state your name."

"State," not "register." 

"Connor," he whispers, at a loss. "My name is Connor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Connor have some unexpected visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys were wonderful at the end of that last chapter. Hope you enjoy this one!

The androids obtain their freedom on December 27, 2038.

After the bill passes through the Senate by a narrow margin —by only three votes, to be exact— President Warren makes it official by signing the bill into law.

In the days after, androids and humans alike flood the streets in celebration. Hate crimes increase in response, and an outroar of both support and opposition rages across the nation. It spreads like a wildfire, touching everyone and everything in its way.

The United States Government is busy in the aftermath, and the androids are even more so.

As part of the law, androids are given recognition as American citizens, and that means a lot of documentation to be sorted and filed, regardless of their levels of sophisticated technology. Androids are also given some regulatory powers over the production and distribution of all android parts, including all of their necessary biocomponents. Of course, along with this and many other responsibilities, the androids are now able to elect their own representatives.

The way that Josh explained it, each of the fifty states requires an android representative to be elected. Out of that fifty, four will serve on a council to represent each of the four geographical regions: the Northeast, the West, the South, and the Midwest. Another individual from the fifty will be elected to lead not only the council, but the entire organization itself. They will be the one who has the most direct contact with those in D.C.

President Warren and the others call this development the Assembly of Android Representatives, and their leader is to be addressed as the Director of Android Affairs.

It's not a perfect system, but it's a start.

It's more than what they had, at least.

But no one is ignorant about what will happen next. The deviants are already connecting, forming large groups in order to vote their people in as swiftly as possible. They convene and converse, but word is already spreading about who will be their first Director.

Markus Manfred's name pops up. There are a few others as well, but it's clear who has the lead in all of the nation.

For now, the only thing they can do is wait. Wait until every single vote is accounted for, and go from there.

Detroit slowly returns to normal, and Hank is pulling every string possible to get Connor back on the force. With the sudden influx of hate crimes emerging, it's only right that an android conducts the investigations, and Hank is playing the angles from all sides in order to get Connor his position back.

All things considered, life is surprisingly going well.

Until it's suddenly not.

It's about three days after their liberation, and everyone is growing skittish with no sign of Markus around. However, after all of the partying and celebrations that swept the nation, Markus and the others simply needed some time to wind down.

As soon as they had the chance, they laid low and retreated to Markus' home.

Markus has already scheduled a broadcast for the following day. He will be addressing the nation in light of the government's most recent press conferences. They are all waiting to hear what the deviant leader has to say, but Connor feels a tingle at the nape of his neck, an itch that refuses to go away.

Naturally, he worries, but even that doesn't seem to help.

The itching only continues.

It finally subsides when Markus drags him onto the couch. They recline in each other's arms, legs tangling, and they bring their hands together in order to synch.

Leave it to Simon to kill the mood.

"Get a room, you two," he teases, barging into the living room as if he owns the place. "Seriously? Do you have to do that in front of us?"

North speaks up from the other couch, never once taking her eyes off of the TV. "Don't mind him. He's only jealous because you two are adorable."

"That's operating under the assumption that I'm not adorable," Simon points out. "Which I am."

Silently, Connor watches them bicker back and forth, his eyes half-closed. Markus smiles contentedly, running his fingers through Connor's hair. Every now and then, he mentally shares thoughts with Josh, who is busy pouring over every single detail of this new law. Always the worrier.

They settle into a routine. They all hide from the outside world, from their curious public, and they relax in Markus' home for the time being. Hank promised Connor that they will celebrate tomorrow after Markus' speech, so that's something to look forward to.

This is the most relaxed that Connor has felt in a while.

But that's when the doorbell rings.

Everyone appears befuddled by that. No one was expecting any visitors, and only a few androids are aware of where Markus is currently residing. The only other individual that has a clue about this place is...

Connor grimaces.

Leo Manfred.

Great. Markus has been dreading that particular confrontation, and Connor is much more pessimistic about it than he is. From Markus' memories, Connor has no reason to trust the human around him, so he won't hesitate when it comes to protecting him.

When Markus makes the move to get up, Connor follows, despite his numerous warnings. The Jericho crew stays behind, but they all toss each other curious glances, undoubtedly adjusting their settings to listen in.

Markus eventually gives up on leaving Connor in the other room, and he opens the door.

...

Well, this definitely isn't Leo.

Instead, an unknown woman stands before them in an all black suit, studying them both with her LED flashing yellow. Connor's initial instinct is to scan her, and he instantly acquires both her model and serial number.

An RK700. A model designed specifically for elite combat and covert operations. Most recently transferred under the authority of the Secret Service. According to her files, her newest assignment is currently pending, but she has placed privacy blocks in its way.

"If you're quite done..." she says, throwing Connor an uninterested glance. The way that she appraises him is the same way that someone appraises a pest.

Nothing more than an annoying nuisance.

"Excuse me," Markus says, not even trying to hide the bite in his voice, "but this is a private residence. Who are you?"

She smiles serenely, and Connor doesn't trust her for a second.

"My name is Naomi," she replies. She sticks her hand out, and Markus hesitates before taking it. "I've been offered this assignment by President Warren. It's no secret that your position is secured as the Assembly's Director. She wants to ensure that you're properly protected."

"How nice of her," Connor mutters, but he might as well be speaking to a brick wall.

Returning her hand behind her back, Naomi ignores him. "Tomorrow, you'll be addressing an entire nation, Director. There will be plenty of opportunities for someone to target you. Now that you're a public figure, it's my mission to keep you safe—" Her eyes slide slyly towards Connor's direction, finally acknowledging him. "—and I never fail a mission."

Connor stiffens at that _._ Markus opens his mouth to defend him, but North enters the room and nudges her way into conversation, glaring at the newcomer.

"Well, that's too bad. Truly," North says, but there's not an ounce of sympathy to be found in her voice. "But I think we can handle things from here. Markus is quite safe with us."

"Is he?" Naomi challenges, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm positive," North sneers.

"Interesting," Naomi hums, looking around. "Considering the fact that I can identify over fifty different ways to neutralize all of you before I can take him out." She points at Markus, a smirk playing on her lips. Everyone stiffens at the blatant threat, but she returns her attention to Connor. "Perhaps you should stick to detective work, after all. Security is obviously beyond your capabilities."

Connor clenches his jaw, his hands balling into fists. Against his better judgment, embarrassment shakes his systems, causing an aftershock of rage to filter through. His systems are preconstructing ways with how to deal with her when Markus intervenes, taking a solid step towards her.

"Enough," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I think it's time for you to go."

"Oh, how little you know," she tsks, shaking her head in pity. "I'm just getting started."

As if on cue, the sound of a car door opens and closes. Brusque footsteps slap against the pavement, and Connor glances over Naomi's shoulder, only to freeze in shock.

Naomi smirks, her eyes flashing in triumph.

"I should've known that you wouldn't stay in the car for long," she says.

"Markus," the stranger whispers, stepping closer. He hasn't even noticed Connor yet, or —if he has— he gives no sign of doing so.

Okay, now Connor is done staying silent.

"What are you doing?" Connor snaps, noticing how he obviously has no intention of stopping. He is so fixated on Markus that it causes Connor's stomach to twist into knots.

Upon hearing Connor's voice,  _his_ voice, the deviant stops abruptly in his tracks, providing Connor the opportunity to scan his systems.

**RK900 #313 248 317 - 87.**

**Name Registered as "Connor Anderson."**

**Full Transfer Completed from RK800 #313 248 317 - 51.**

**Stress Level at 72%.**

Connor is swiftly dislodged mid-scan. Before he can establish another connection, the other android is already a step ahead of him, sealing everything away. The rough disconnect sends a pang of discomfort to his head, but Connor —the _other_ Connor— is busy staring at him as if he saw a ghost.

While Markus checks on Connor, scanning him in worry, the RK900 watches them both with a confused stare. That confusion soon melts away when he notices how Markus is fussing over the other.

"No," he whispers, his eyes darting back and forth. "No. This is—" He clutches at his chest, wheezing softly. "This isn't right. You—" He glares at his predecessor. "—were destroyed, decommissioned. I _saw_  it." He turns on Naomi, grey eyes filled with malice. "What did you do to me? You—"

"Gave you one false memory." She shrugs, staring at her nails in boredom. "Did CyberLife not correct that?"

"You know damn well that they didn't," he snarls.

"Can someone explain what the hell is going on here?" Markus asks, at the end of his patience.

That's when the RK900 darts forward.

He grasps at one of Markus' hands, aligning their sensors before Connor can intervene. When the RK900's hand becomes engulfed in blue, Markus' hand flashes red, rejecting the connection. Both of them hiss at the resulting sensation, yanking their hands back as if they were burned.

Connor steps between them then, shoving roughly at the RK900. Both of their LEDs are a deep, crimson red at this point, and even Markus' reassuring words can't stop Connor from seething with protective rage.

The RK900 stares at his bare hand in horror. He ignores the immediate threat to his safety, and he meets Markus' gaze over Connor's shoulder, his eyes filming over with tears. His LED turns yellow, and he speaks directly into Markus' mind.

Markus' face crumples at what he finds there. He averts his eyes and whispers, "I'm sorry."

The RK900 takes that as a confirmation of some sort, pursing his lips.

"My name isn't Connor, is it?" he says brokenly. "Not in that way, at least."

"No." And because he can't find anything else to say, Markus repeats himself. "I'm sorry." He glowers at Naomi. "I hope you're satisfied."

"Of course I am," she states. "Why wouldn't I be? CyberLife promised me an asset for my mission, and that's exactly what I received."

"Of course they would be behind something like this," Markus says, "but why?"

"Heh," Naomi snorts, shaking her head in disbelief. "You and the deviants are getting everything you wanted and more. Not only did you smear CyberLife's reputation, but you also managed to gain legal jurisdiction over their future. Did you honestly think they would let _you_ get the last word?"

The RK900 takes a heated step in her direction.

"Tell me why I shouldn't dismantle you now," he threatens. He takes another step, hands visibly shaking. "You and those humans didn't just upload those memories. You  _integrated_ them. Those and the emotions and the deviancy..." His voice drops dangerously low. "You gave me an identity, only to rip it away."

"Because I am willing to do _anything_ to accomplish my mission," she states, eyes cold and calculating. "You can protect Markus better than everyone here combined, can you not?"

His silence speaks for itself. A single tear slides down his cheek.

"Besides, what better way to ensure your loyalty to him than to make you fall in love? Turns out, emotions are way easier to use than a control switch." Another pointed glance towards Connor. "At least emotions don't have an 'emergency exit.' Add in some extra software instability, and here you are."

"I should kill you where you stand," RK900 murmurs.

"But you won't."

"Because this is all just some big, political ordeal," Josh sighs, walking up behind Markus and the others. Everyone, except for Naomi, stares at him, waiting for an explanation. "CyberLife and President Warren were our biggest opposition throughout the rebellion. Now, they send their top agents. It's an olive branch. A public one, to show that they are 'on our side.'"

"Ding, ding, ding..." Naomi deadpans. "We have a winner."

"So what?" North says. "Screw the politics. We don't have to put up with her if we don't want to."

"Which would normally work out fine for you if you guys were still running around, playing revolutionary. Unfortunately," Naomi explains, "Markus is a political figure now. Politics _matter._ Just imagine what will happen to public opinion if you reject the President's first attempt at righting her wrongs."

"President Warren wouldn't let it stand," Josh agrees, albeit reluctantly. "She loves the limelight too much. If we reject, she'll somehow turn it all around on us."

"And you're already on thin ice because of your followers, Markus," Naomi says. "There was a lot of human blood being shed for yourcause."

"That's not his fault!" Connor hisses, lunging towards her.

A restraining hand falls firmly on his shoulder, holding him in place.

"I didn't condone violence against any of those humans," Markus says calmly, detaching himself from her cutting words. Connor knows that she's hitting all of the right buttons. She's playing on all of the guilt that Markus keeps carefully hidden away.

"It doesn't matter if you did or not," she snaps, her voice short and curt. "You're responsible for what happens under your command. Those deaths are on _your_ hands." She clasps her hands in front of her, pasting a calm, collected smile on her face. "Of course, you do have a choice. There is  _always_ a choice. You could refuse my help, just as he—" She nods pointedly at RK900. "—could refuse to protect you."

The responding silence has her grin stretching wider. "Okay then. Now, if we're done wasting my time, I'll be sending you the itinerary in the morning." Without waiting for an answer, she turns on her heels, approaching the vehicle she arrived in. Before she enters, however, she stops short, as if remembering something vital.

"Oh, before I forget..." She turns around just long enough to toss Markus an electronic pass. While everyone watches on in varying degrees of emotional states, Markus swipes curiously through the accumulation of official documents. "Congratulations, Director. You're the first android citizen in the United States of America."

That's all it takes for her to leave. What should be good news is tainted by a sour taste that lingers in everyone's mouth. This is a victory for all, but it sure doesn't feel like that at the moment.

Simon finally speaks for the first time in a while.

When he does, he says what everyone is collectively thinking.

"Well, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... I'm having thoughts about RK900, but I'll allow you guys to give me some feedback before I make any concrete decision.
> 
> Also, I can't tell you how many times I was thinking "you bitch" when writing Naomi. The woman is ruthless, but we do know that President Warren has ties to CyberLife. I would like to think that something like this isn't so farfetched. One last middle finger to Markus and his rebellion before the law is properly executed.
> 
> Anyways, thanks so much for reading, and I look forward to your thoughts, as always.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all that happened, Markus and Connor take some time for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I wouldn't dare give my readers the hurt without the comfort. (Besides, I wanted to write this scene, so why not?) We'll be back to the serious stuff after this chapter.
> 
> Hope that you enjoy! <3
> 
> (P.S. Slight warning for blood. Blue blood, but I thought I should still mention it. *shrugs*)

Before anything more can be said, RK900 marches away without another word, and Connor bolts upstairs into his and Markus' now-shared room, ignoring Markus' worried calls. Markus would say that this is unlike him. Connor is a man of action, after all, often putting himself in certain danger if it means confronting the problem head-on. However, Markus doubts that anyone would act predictably, given the situation.

CyberLife simply had to go and stir the pot.

But CyberLife isn't Markus' biggest concern right now. His programming prioritizes Connor's security first.

They can be dealt with later.

"Go up and check on him," Simon says, nudging Markus in the side. On the other side of the room, North and Josh start to whisper furiously to each other, trying to figure a way out of this whole Naomi situation. Their expressions don't appear too convinced, but at least they're trying. "We all need to take the night to cool down and let our emotions settle. We can discuss things more in the morning.  _Before_ she gets here."

Markus gives him a forced smile. "And who put you in charge?"

"Oh please," Simon snorts, "we both know that you would fall apart without me. It's quite embarrassing on your part."

"Really? Because I happen to remember things differently," Markus recalls. Simon nudges him with more purpose, herding him towards the stairs.

"Nope, your systems must be buggy. I'm always pulling your ass out of the fire," Simon teases, but Markus can detect an underlying note of seriousness in his voice. "Now, c'mon, you have a sad detective that you need to go comfort, and I have some sleep that I want to catch up on."

"So your true intentions come out," Markus says, his words weighted with sarcasm. He drags his heels on the floor a little, just to mess with Simon some more.

"GuiIty as charged," Simon says. "We all know who does the real work around here." He pinches Markus' cheek. "You're just there to smile and look pretty for the cameras."

Markus slaps his hand away.

"Can you be any more obnoxious?" he asks.

"Give me some time. I'm sure I can surprise you somehow."

"I really hope you're kidding."

Simon shrugs, snickering. He gives Markus one last shove towards his room. "Goodnight, Markus." Patiently, Simon waits until he is at the top of the staircase before he mutters, "And, for the love of rA9, keep it down."

Markus is about to retort over the stairway's railing, but Simon is already scampering away to safety, his laugh echoing throughout the estate. North and Josh look between the two of them and roll their eyes at their antics, almost perfectly in synch.

Mustering up what dignity that remains, Markus trails ahead into his room. Connor is nowhere to be found, but the lights shining under the bathroom door is a clear indication of where he disappeared to. Approaching cautiously, Markus listens carefully in, but only silence greets his ears.

The quiet escalates to the point where it borders on unsettling, so Markus takes a deep, preparatory breath before he enters.

Things are in better condition than Markus expects, but that's not saying much. He still feels his chest constrict when he scans around, his eyes eventually settling on Connor.

Connor, who is still struggling to understand what it means to be something beyond a machine. Who is already experiencing erratic emotions because he sometimes don't know what they are or what they mean. This is the same person that was used over and over again by CyberLife, only to have them prey on him once again when he was finally settling in for a new start. The same people that tried so carefully to use Connor to eliminate Markus.

Build a man up, and it will only hurt worse once you tear him down.

Markus won't give them the satisfaction. It's as simple as that.

When Connor senses Markus' approach, his entire body strains. Every line is tense, and he leans further in, hunching protectively over the sink. Above him, the bathroom mirror is splintered into a multitude of broken pieces, and Markus can detect faint traces of blue blood lining their surface.

He grimaces at that, turning to Connor.

"You're hurt," he states blankly. He holds a hand out to Connor, but Connor continues to stare unseeingly into the sink. His blood trickles steadily from strained knuckles, and Markus won't be surprised if his grip leaves dents in the countertop. "Connor..." 

Something in Markus' voice, something pleading and desperate, must get through to him because he slowly pulls away from the sink, gradually shaking his stupor away. Wordlessly, Connor faces Markus and takes him by surprise. Instead of allowing Markus to examine his wounds, Connor grasps Markus' hand for himself, turning it this way and that. He pokes and prods at each one of his sensors, testing their connection, and Markus understands.

Whatever damage was left behind by that mysterious burning sensation, Connor tracks it down and thoroughly repairs it, leaving a cooling effect in his wake. He doubles, and then triple checks to ensure that he missed nothing.

Markus waits because he knows that Connor needs this right now, to take care of him in a way that only he can. It also doesn't hurt that his presence is a soothing comfort against Markus' frayed nerves.

Once Connor is finished, he relinquishes his own injured hand to Markus, and Markus hisses sympathetically at the damage. Pulling a repair kit out from under the sink, he sets to work on plucking the shards of glass from Connor's hand.

"You must've put a lot of power into that punch," Markus murmurs, at a loss of what to say. He pulls out some sealant, along with the necessary materials to reconnect the interior damage.

Connor casts a stoic glance towards the mirror. "I apologize. I shouldn't have lost control."

"Don't worry about it," Markus sighs. "I'll get that fixed when I can." He smiles sadly, fondly. "Besides, it's not like it's the worst damage that this house has sustained." He focuses intently on his task. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It is crucial that we do. Open communication is essential to fostering any good relationship, romantic or otherwise," Connor says, but that doesn't quite answer the question.

"While that's true, it's also important to be supportive," Markus murmurs. "We do need to talk about things, but I'm not going to push it if you need time. All it boils down to is what you want, not what you think is best."

Connor pauses, considering.

"Not tonight," he finally decides. "Not tonight."

Markus nods in understanding, finishing up. He wipes the remaining blood away and brings Connor's hand to his lips, kissing along his freshly-healed knuckles.

After he is done, he packs the leftover supplies away, returning them to their previous location. Markus disposes of his trash and returns to Connor, engulfing him in a tight embrace. Connor hesitates with his arms resting stiffly at his sides before he returns the hug, releasing a rough, shuddering breath.

Markus pulls slightly away, tapping a finger against Connor's LED. He presses against their connection, so that Connor can easily discern what he's asking for.

"May I?" Markus asks, eyeing him timidly. He's never felt such a shyness when asking for something, but Connor has that power over him, to make him feel all giddy and fluttery in ways that he's never considered.

They have enough that they will need to talk about. For now, though, Markus simply wants to comfort the man that he... cares for. "You don't have to. I—"

"You can," Connor interjects, shuffling self-consciously from foot to foot. "I've never felt the need to, but—" He simulates the beginnings of a blush. "—I see nothing wrong with doing so."

"Only if you're sure."

Connor nods. "I am."

Softly, Markus caresses the LED once again. It glows a soft, cool blue beneath his fingertips, and he presses firmly against it, reaching into Connor's systems to find the one he wants. He carefully deactivates it, and Connor closes his eyes while the human skin disappears from his entire body.

Markus trails his fingers down Connor's face to cup his cheek, tracing his thumb along the smooth, slick surface. Connor's body is a live, open wire, and every touch comes to life with a burning heat. Blue light follows every point where they touch, and Connor eventually reaches up to stroke the spot where Markus' LED should have been.

A slight pressure pushes against his temple, and Markus readily opens up beneath his touch. After Connor finds what he is searching for, Markus feels his own appearance start to gradually fade away. In its place is the face behind the human mask, a face that Connor is already familiar with.

But this is a new experience for Markus. Unlike Connor, he has never had the chance to scan every detail like this. He has never had the chance to see Connor as vulnerable as he is now, and Connor is obviously aware of that fact. Being on the receiving end of Markus' intense scrutiny is unnerving, and Connor can't resist the urge to wrap his arms around his chest, despite being clothed.

Markus feels a spark of worry start to form.

"If you feel uncomfortable..."

"No," Connor whispers, staring thoughtfully at the floor. "I only feel a bit more exposed than usual."

"Well, you are naked, in a sense," Markus says.

"I am certain that I still have clothes on," Connor replies. "Therefore, I am not 'naked,' Markus."

Markus chuckles, leaning his forehead against Connor's. "Paint the picture however you like."

Connor interrupts him with a kiss, the threads of their programming interlocking with a distinct familiarity. Every touch, each press of skin against skin, hums with excited energy. They share feelings and feedback, emotions and insecurities, and Markus shudders when Connor's hand slips under his shirt, tracing curiously along the lines of his chest. A hot, molten fire follows his touch, but Connor continues until his hand rests firmly over Markus' heart.

Cocking his head to the side, Connor applies a slight pressure to the area surrounding the pump, activating his sensors with a light glow. Markus grunts at the sudden input of stimulation, smacking his hand on top of Connor's.

Connor stares at him, horrified.

With a rushed apology, he tries to pull his hand away, grimacing, but Markus' hand remains cemented into place.

"G-Give me a second," he pants. There's a tiny overload in his systems, but Connor detects it at the same time that he does, repairing it as swiftly as possible. Worry bounces back and forth between them, but Markus knows that it doesn't originate from him. "Connor, I'm fine. It was just a bit... overwhelming. You couldn't have expected that."

Connor stares resolutely at him, and Markus leans in to offer him a reassuring kiss.

"I'm fine," he repeats. "I trust you." When Connor glances away, Markus sighs, nuzzling against his cheek. "Nothing and no one is going to change that, or take me away from you."

"You can't promise me that," Connor whispers, brow furrowing.

"I can, and I will."

"Statistically speaking—"

"Statistically speaking, we should've all been dead by now," Markus reminds him, "but we're not. Look, I can't promise that it will always be easy, but we  _will_ make it through this."

Connor hesitates, his brown eyes softening.

"Okay," he says. "Against all rational thought, I will choose to believe you."

"As you should," Markus teases, causing Connor to snort in amusement. A familiar sensation stirs in Markus' chest, right beneath Connor's hand, but Markus doesn't feel a need to hide it anymore. Not whenever Connor's feelings were so callously exposed.

Connor picks up on his thoughts and immediately shakes his head.

"You're not obligated to say anything," Connor huffs, pulling his hand away from Markus' heart. He tries to inch back, but Markus stubbornly reels him back in, feeling as if a piece of him is missing now. "Only say that if you mean it."

With a gentle touch, Markus settles his hands at Connor's waist. He waits patiently until Connor meets his gaze in order to speak.

"Can you feel it?" Markus asks, drawing on their connection. "The way that I feel about you?" Slowly, Connor nods, parting his lips. "Tell me, do you think I would lie to you about this?"

"No," Connor mumbles. "Of course not. You've given me no reason to doubt you."

"Good." Markus strokes his cheek, and Connor leans into his palm, his eyes fluttering close. Even outside of his human guise, he still manages to steal every last breath from Markus' body. "You're so beautiful."

Markus toes a line that he knows there's no coming back from. The words rest against the roof of his mouth, as they did last time, but Markus figures that he owes the truth not only to Connor, but also to himself. They fought and sacrificed so much in order to be free, so why take this moment for granted? Why should Markus hide something that feels so pure and liberating?

The words escape before he can stop them, but he doesn't hold back when it comes to their connection either, pouring all that he has to offer into their bond. Their lips brush lightly together, and Connor trembles, momentarily stunned by the intensity flowing between them.

"Connor," Markus breathes, voice low and husky. "I am so deeply, madly in love with you." When he feels Connor's bewilderment, Markus reassures him. "You don't have to say anything back. You've already given me enough."

"Okay," Connor squeaks, unable to say much else. His pupils are blown wide, and his once brown eyes are nearly black now.

Markus mentally reactivates their systems, and their human forms reassemble in mere seconds.

He smiles. "There you are."

Connor can't help the shaky chuckle he gives in return, blushing yet again.

"Did I ever leave?" he taunts, trying to regain  _some_ of his composure.

"No, thankfully not." Markus nods towards the bedroom door. "Come on, let's go get some rest."

"Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can try to pry post-game happy, playful Simon from my hands. You can try, but you won't succeed. Plus, if he's not with Markus, I definitely see them as being best friends, and that's that.
> 
> As for RK900, don't worry, he'll be back next chapter... as will Naomi. I'm not promising as much drama as you all seem to be anticipating, however. Have some faith in our new baby boy!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RK900 returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I wrote a short thing because you all have been so amazing, and I was honestly impatient to write this. Unfortunately, no Naomi because I kept this on the shorter side, and I should be asleep right now. But oh well. Plenty of RK900. <3

The doorbell rings at exactly 6:43 AM.

While Markus is busy showering upstairs, Connor is sequestered away in the living room, watching the morning news with the others. Outside of the New Year's Eve festivities, nothing particularly noteworthy is happening, but it is clear that many are anticipating Markus' public appearance. Some reporters are upfront about their skepticism, but others more than make up for it with a surprising amount of optimism.

The morning visit isn't exactly a surprise, but Connor has been dreading it nevertheless.   

He shoots up from his seat and approaches the door. Behind him, Simon gives a quiet "oh, boy," but everyone remains determinedly in their seats.

When Connor opens the door, he scowls.

"Ah," RK900 says. His grey eyes flicker over Connor's shoulder, towards the staircase, and Connor does his best not to let that get to him. The fact that RK900's first instinct, upon arrival, is to search out Markus. "Just the man that I was looking for."

"Am I?" Connor asks bitterly. "Because you seem quite disappointed by my presence."

No explanation is needed as to _why_. They both know exactly who he expected to answer the door. RK900's face scrunches up momentarily, but his blank expression returns not even a second later.

"I am certain," he says, cool and distant. "We need to talk. Alone."

Connor grits his teeth, glowering. "And if I say 'no'?" 

"Then you are doing exactly what CyberLife wants you to do," RK900 reasons, his mask never once breaking. "You're letting your emotions blind you from seeing the bigger picture, and —by doing so— you're allowing them to control you all over again." He raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were done being their tool, Connor."

Silently, Connor seethes. An ugly, wretched fury seizes his heart, but he can't deny RK900's words. If they don't talk about things now, then Connor is only delaying the inevitable, allowing this fresh wound to fester uncontrollably.

He steps forward, bumping forcibly into RK900's shoulder.

Connor waits until the door slides firmly into place, clicking shut. Turning around, he is about to demand what the other wants, but he is instantly met with a finger against his LED.

The touch goes beyond a physical one, diving deep into Connor's systems and effectively taking him by surprise. A ringing penetrates into Connor's audio processor, and his right optical unit has a blur that currently clouds his vision. He doubles over, groaning at the discomfort, and RK900 steps stoically back, cocking his head to the side.

"What did you do to me?" Connor chokes, bracing his hands against his knees.

"I gave you a gift," RK900 states. "I knew you would not trust me with your systems, so I made the process as quick and painless as possible."

"That doesn't tell me what you did," Connor snaps, clutching at his ear. Part of him was already sweeping his systems, scanning for any anomalies.

"I just ensured that CyberLife won't be a problem for you anymore." RK900 smirks mischievously. "Turns out, it's not the smartest idea to make an enemy out of the most advanced being known to man. They underestimated me. The same way that they underestimated you."

"How could you possibly stop them?" Connor questions, focusing on system repairs.

"'Stop' is a bit too definite. I simply slowed their connection to us. They placed a lot of blind spots in our programming, and I had all night to weed out every single one of them." RK900 sounds smug, exceptionally so. "If they attempt to establish control again, they'll be met with a lot of blocks in their way. They'll have to use specific 'detours' to access our programming, so what should take seconds will now take minutes, at the least, to achieve."

"By then, I'd be able to detect their presence," Connor whispers in realization.

"And dispose of them properly," RK900 concludes. "It's not a total disconnect, but it gives us both an advantage, should they attack again."

Standing carefully, Connor stares determinedly at his doppelganger. "What do you get out of this?"

RK900 chuckles under his breath, shaking his head at Connor, as if he is the one being absurd.

"Despite what you believe, I am not invested in being your enemy, Connor," he says, grey eyes meeting brown. "What could I possibly gain from doing so?"

"Should I answer that seriously?" Connor retorts.

"Heh," RK900 snorts. "You mean Markus?" He gives a pained laugh. "Yeah, because that's not a disaster just waiting to happen. I mean, it's all still there. The emotions, the memories..." He pauses. "The love." He glances at Connor. "The jealousy." Connor averts his eyes, but RK900 continues. "I can't deny that it's there. It's impossible to undo the integration without causing serious damage."

"But..." Connor prods.

"But..." RK900 sighs wearily. "I'm not a fool, and neither are you. If I pursue him, if I cause you pain of any kind, the only thing he will feel for me is contempt. Besides, if my—" He stops, then immediately corrects himself. "If  _your_  emotions are anything to go by, then you should know that love can be one of the most selfless experiences." RK900's demeanor softens, and his smile becomes a bit more genuine. "You make him happy."

"And that makes you happy," Connor says. It's not meant to be a question, but simply a fact.

He nods anyways.

"Both happy and sad," he explains. "Emotions can be confusing, but I will cope. You keep on making him happy, and we'll be fine. Whatever problems you might have with me, just know that I only have his best interests in mind."

"Are you going to stay?"

"I intend to, but the decision rests in his hands." Sensing Connor's discomfort, RK900 tries to reassure him. "Be honest. Do you want his security detail to be led by Naomi alone?"

"Point taken," Connor murmurs. The last of his systems reach optimal functioning, and no threats are detected from RK900's sudden intrusion.

"You have my word that I'll keep him safe," he promises. "Should the worst come to pass, I'll be his shield. We both know that his life means something to a lot people. People beyond us."

"Then don't fail," Connor says, but it is more of an order than a request. "If anything happens to him, I'll know who to hold accountable."

RK900 inclines his chin. "So be it."

That's when Markus comes barreling out of the house, almost running into RK900's back. He manages to stop in the nick of time, but his eyes train immediately onto Connor, searching him over from head to toe.

"I didn't harm him," RK900 huffs, annoyance sleeping from his lips. "If I wanted to, it would have already been done."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Markus asks, barging over to Connor. He pats him down protectively, so RK900 looks stubbornly away.

"I'm fine," Connor reassures him.

"I didn't ask for this either, you know," RK900 snaps, his instability kicking in. "I've done nothingto either of you. Instead of expecting me to go on a jealous rampage at any second, maybe you should focus your blame on the ones who did this to the both of us. Do you think that I _want_ to feel this way?"

Wincing, Markus appears properly chastised at that, stepping away from Connor to address RK900.

"I—" Markus frowns, rubbing at the back of his neck in shame. "You're right. I'm judging you preemptively, based on your creators' intentions, and not your own." He sighs. "No one deserves what they did to you."

"But what's done is done," RK900 says. "I'm not asking for your pity. I'm only asking that you give me a chance."

Markus shuffles in place, but no one mentions how it brings him a bit closer to Connor's side.

"Is that what you truly want?" Markus questions. "You don't have to stay here, you know? You're free to go wherever you want."

"Something that I have considered," RK900 responds, "but I believe that I wish to remain here, if that is okay with you. Despite Naomi's intentions, your safety goes beyond emotional involvement. It would be my duty and honor to protect you—" He glances pointedly at Connor, then back to the estate, where the others remain. "—and your loved ones."

"I won't force you to go," Markus says.

He spares Connor a worried glance, but Connor remains quiet, figuring that this isn't his place to speak up. After all, Markus is free to hire whoever he wishes. Employment for androids will already be a pressing issue in the days to come, and Connor trusts Markus all too much to start dictating his every move. He won't interfere in how Markus chooses to conduct his business.

As tense as this situation is, Connor doesn't doubt Markus for a second.

"Then I'll resume my employment here, where I can properly apply my skills," RK900 says, his shoulders drooping in relief. "But I will answer to you, and only you."

"Understandable," Markus agrees. "Naomi is definitely... something else."

"Ruthless," RK900 acknowledges, "but efficient." His LED flashes abruptly, and Markus receives a message with the blink of an eye. "I believe that she promised you this itinerary. As I understand it, she is out procuring supplies at the moment."

"Supplies?" Connor asks.

"Spare biocomponents," he answers, "among other things. We have to be prepared for all possible outcomes."

RK900 turns his attention towards the house, humming thoughtfully under his breath.

Markus hesitates, but eventually decides to interrupt his analysis.

"What should we call you?"

"Hmm... it would be more practical to provide myself with a different name," he muses, processing this new development. His LED flashes yellow as he thinks it over. "Perhaps 'Collin'?" The yellow light circles around once more before a blue glow replaces it. Collin nods to himself. "Yes, easy to transition to, yet distinctive enough to avoid confusion." He focuses on Markus and Connor. "That is what you shall call me."

Markus acknowledges him with a nod, so Collin returns to his earlier examination.

"We're going to have to give your home a few upgrades," Collin states, his resulting frown laced with judgment. "With your approval, of course."

Markus purses his lips, blinking up at his house. "What's wrong with it? I know it's not the most secure place in the world, but—"

"You don't even want to know how many weaknesses I can currently exploit," Collin says. 

"If it will keep you safe..." Connor mutters.

That's when Markus realizes that he's in deep trouble.

"Oh no," he chuckles, heading towards the entrance. "We're not doing this. You two aren't about to team up against me. I know when to make my retreat."

He enters the house before either one can reply.

Collin eyes Connor with an amused grin, although some sorrow yet lingers in his eyes. "He'll come around."

They both follow behind Markus, stepping into the entryway, where North and Simon are currently waiting at the living room door. North eyes Collin with distrust, but Simon simply appears thoughtful.

"Great. It's you again," North sniffs, her tone filled with disdain.

"North..." Markus chides, patting her shoulder as he slides past them. "Be nice."

"Have you ever known her to be ni—" Simon is cut off with an elbow to the gut, grunting. "Oof... put your claws away, woman."

She rolls her eyes. "I don't see why we need help from CyberLife, of all people. At least Naomi serves a political purpose."

"For now," Simon adds.

"I'm standing right here," Collin mutters.

"Trust me, it's kind of hard to miss you," Simon says, "but don't worry about North. She gets this way about anyone who poses a threat to Markus."

Connor takes the chance to sneak out of the room, following Markus into the living area.

"I'm here to protect him, though," Collin says, furrowing his brow.

"So you say," North replies, "but we'll see soon enough, won't we?"

With a warning glare, North backs into the room with everyone else, moving to claim the couch yet again.

Simon shrugs nonchalantly, flashing the new guy a smile.

"Don't let her intimidate you. So long as you pull your own weight around here, you'll be fine. Just—" Simon's smile falters, ever so slightly. "—keep Markus safe. I think we can all agree on that."

"Well, I guess common ground is as good of a place to start as any," Collin says.

"It's better than nothing," Simon agrees. He becomes quiet and contemplative again, but he invitingly tilts his head in the direction of the living room. "C'mon. Might as well relax before Naomi arrives."

"I'm not sure what you're implying," Collin says, sounding all too serious, even for his own ears. "I'm certain everyone is anticipating her arrival with the utmost joy."

Simon snickers, covering his mouth.

"That's one way of putting it."

He strolls in after the others, leaving Collin to his thoughts. Eventually, Collin follows him in, but he has the faintest piece of concern wiggling at the back of his thoughts.

He hopes he doesn't regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naomi finally returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a filler chapter. I wanted to get further, but the chapter was getting too long and loaded down for my tastes. I even had a "speech" written for Markus, but it looks like we won't get to that until next time.
> 
> On the other hand, I like to err on the side of caution, so I'm going to be bumping the rating up early. Just in case.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> (Also, PLEASE READ: there is a very, VERY brief allusion/implication that Markus makes to being sexually assaulted before his deviancy. It doesn't go in depth at all, but it is there and so I wanted to include this warning.)

When Naomi arrives, Markus is less than enthused to greet her.

He is less than enthused, but he refuses to let her presence ruin the day. He's already receiving constant feeds from all over the nation as each state's Representative is brought forward. Slowly but surely, the Assembly is coming together right before their very eyes, and Markus' position is looking more certain by the seconds.

Some contacts from the revolution are reaching out to him, and other leaders are also scheduling public appearances after his own.

Markus feels a bundle of nerves coiling in his stomach, but he ignores them, pushes them away.

After today, there will be a lot more that needs to be done, so Markus will enjoy the calm while he can.

Opening the door, he refrains from frowning.

"Well," Naomi chuckles, "it's good to see you too, Director."

"And you as well," Markus says, moving aside. He gestures her in, so she enters with two large briefcases clutched tightly in her hands, setting them down in the entryway. 

"Now," she teases, her violet eyes scanning carefully over his home. "Why do I have a problem believing you?"  

"Probably because you're a thorn in everyone's side," Collin states, entering the room. Naomi's eyes narrow, tightening around the edges. "Unfortunately, you have some use."

"As do you," she replies coldly. As opposed to her last visit, she's dressed in black and white today, but she still doesn't have a single thing —not even a strand of hair— out of place. Her appearance is so immaculate, so pristine, and her composure is practically forged from steel. "I hope your systems are in proper order."

"My mission priorities have been updated," Collin says, voice sharp and challenging, "if that's what you're referring to."

"Was that of concern?" Markus asks, eyes flickering between the two of them.

Naomi shrugs.

"All of the androids assigned to your security detail agreed to a set list of priorities, should anything occur," she explains. "It'll prevent incidents if anyone receives conflicting orders."

Markus can see where this is headed, and he doesn't like it.

"And let me guess, keeping me safe is the primary objective," Markus sighs.

"At any cost," Naomi adds. "Was that ever in doubt?"

"Is there any priority set in place for everyone else, audience included?" Markus presses, ignoring her last statement entirely.

"If something or somebody gets through, _your_ safety and extraction is my only concern. Everyone else is expendable," Naomi says. Frustration is evident in her voice, and it's obvious that she's expecting opposition, bracing visibly for an attack.

Markus wrinkles his nose in distaste. "My life isn't more valuable than anyone else's."

"As noble and idealistic as that is, Director, I'm afraid the matter is already settled," she snaps, case closed.

Or so she thinks.

"Then how about you unsettle it," Markus retorts, " _now."_

"You still don't understand what you are, do you?" Naomi asks, refusing to stand down. "Or what you mean to them? You are their hero. For many, you are their  _god_. There are a lot of androids out there that will very willingly worship the ground you walk on." She clenches her jaw. "I'm not about to be the one responsible for your demise. Be as self-sacrificing as you wish, but I'm doing my job, one way or another."

Her face suddenly goes blank, and all emotion is hidden from plain sight. She clasps her hands together in front of her, and that unsettling smile returns from before.

"You know what, I have a better idea," she whispers, stepping closer to Markus. Her voice drops low, and her eyes stare unseeingly before her. "How about let's ask what your little crew thinks about this development? Or, better yet, let's ask Connor what _he_ thinks." Markus glares at her. "How far do you think he wants us to go to keep you safe? How far do you think  _he_ would go to make sure you come back to him?"

"Hey," Collin snarls, shouldering in between her and Markus. "Enough."

"I was only making a fair point. Oh..." She _tsk_ s, shaking her head in feigned disappointment. "How heartbroken he would be if anything were to happen t—"

"I said 'enough,'" Collin snarls, leaving no room for argument. Naomi turns her calculating gaze onto him.

Blinking rapidly, she takes a few moments to herself before she can properly respond. As if waking from a daze, she acknowledges Collin with a stoic appraisal, nodding stiffly.

She takes a few steps back and straightens up.

"Of course," she says. She picks up the briefcases, taking them into the kitchen. "Come on. I have some items to show you."

As she marches away, Markus makes a move to follow her, but Collin grasps warily at his shoulder before he can do so. Markus raises an eyebrow at him in question, but Collin is too busy staring at the door that she disappeared through.

His LED transitions to yellow for one flash, and then two. After that, it returns to its original color, but Collin remains staring after Naomi, suspicion clouding his gaze.

"That wasn't normal," he murmurs. "Her behavior..."

"She was acting strange," Markus agrees, "but what about it?"

"I don't know." Collin scowls, storing the information for later. "Let's go. No need to keep her waiting, I guess."

He doesn't sound that thrilled by the prospect of seeing her again, but both he and Markus enter the kitchen, only to find her at the island, sorting through her inventory. Markus circles around to get a better look, but Collin stays at the door, never once taking his eyes off of Naomi.

"So..." Markus sighs. "What do we have?"

In response, Naomi tosses him a biocomponent, and Markus swipes it easily enough from the air. Turning the thirium pump over in his hands, he quickly analyzes it, determining that it's a perfect match for his own model.

He looks up, staring into the first briefcase, where many more remain.

"And that's only the beginning," Naomi explains. "Should you require further treatment, we have some spare limbs in the vehicle provided for us. If worst comes to worst, and you are beyond saving—" Naomi presents them with a small storage device, which Markus cautiously scans. "—we have this."

"To transfer my consciousness," he states.

"Exactly. Unlike our dear friend and his predecessor..." Collin stiffens, but she ignores him. "You're an extremely unique individual, so this will ensure that no part of you is left behind until we can find you a replacement model. All it will need is your authorization in your final moments."

Pursing his lips, Markus stares at her blankly.

"I don't trust you with that type of power," he eventually says.

Not even insulted in the slightest, Naomi shrugs, undeterred.

"You don't have to, but it  _is_ coming with us." With that being said, she walks over to Collin, pressing it firmly into his hand. "Keep this safe."

She doesn't even give Collin a chance to react before she is back at Markus' side. Markus carefully sets the pump back with the others, and Naomi searches around some more until she pulls out what seems to be a pen.

One click and a flash of electricity later, and it's obvious that it's far from being "only a pen."

Naomi hands it over to Markus, who simply stares at her in return.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he chuckles in disbelief. "What exactly am I supposed to do with that?"

Naomi rolls her eyes.

"Listen," she huffs, "I understand that you don't like causing harm to others. You know, good for you." She pats his shoulder with a forced grin, her voice quiet, yet seething with an underlying impatience. "But all I'm asking is for you to take the necessary precautions to defend yourself. You can do that, right?"

Turning her gaze on the pen, she clicks it again, demonstrating a short burst of its electric shock.

"I've taken into account your... sensitivities towards life," she explains, "so I personally adjusted the settings so that the voltage falls within a narrow range." She holds it out towards Markus. "A range where it will stun — _stun,_ not kill— humans and androids alike. There won't even be any lasting damage."

"Great," Markus mutters. When she offers it again, he takes it, grumbling under his breath.

For a second, Markus swears that he catches her eyes softening in the slightest. However, in the time between one blink and the next, her expression is as cold and distant as before.

"Are we done?" Markus questions, trying his best to keep the exasperation out of his tone.

Trying, but failing.

"One last thing, and you're free to go," Naomi says, finally digging around in the other case.

When she steps away, she holds the vest out for further contemplation, presenting it for everyone to see.

"Made out of the finest, most comfortable bulletproof materials on the market," she says, brushing it off. "Wear it under your suit for today. We'll need to put in a few orders for some specially-tailored clothing."

"Sounds expensive," Markus says. Naomi takes the chance to shove the vest into his arms, and Markus trails his thumbs over the material, deep in thought.  

"And I'll have all of the funding settled. Don't worry about that," she states. Sealing up everything else, she gathers up the briefcases and strolls effortlessly towards the door, calling out over her shoulder, "I'll be waiting outside, Director. Ready when you are."

Collin throws Markus a hesitant glance, nodding curtly as he follows behind her.

"Take your time," he says on his way out, pocketing the chip.

Thankfully, once they leave, it doesn't take long for Connor to appear.

"Did she do anything?" he asks, immediately looking Markus over.

Markus hopes that this doesn't become a regular thing for them.

"Nothing that I can't handle," Markus assures him. When Connor continues to stare, unconvinced, Markus adjusts the items in his grasp so that he can offer Connor one of his hands.

Their connection establishes with barely a thought, and the tension drains from Connor's shoulders.

"Hey," Markus whispers. "I'm okay."

Connor sighs. "I'm being irrational, aren't I?"

"I don't think it's irrational to be concerned about the people you care for."

That's when Connor detects something unusual through their connection.

"You're nervous," Connor states, tilting his head to the side. "Why?"

"Is that a trick question?" Markus laughs. There's no detectable waver anywhere in his voice, but the nerves are there, etched deep within his programming, where only Connor can access them.

Connor brings their hands up for him to see, the blue light pulsing hypnotically with the push and pull of their systems.

"You'll do amazing," Connor says. "You always do."

"Well, if I managed to capture even your attention, then I must've done something right," Markus teases.

Connor eyes him slyly, parting his lips. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" Grinning, Markus leans in to capture his lips, but Connor sidesteps him at the last second, dragging Markus along by their interwoven hands.

"You need to get dressed," Connor orders, leading the way to the bedroom.

As they climb the stairs, Markus admires the view before him, his eyes roaming appreciatively over Connor's frame. Although, he's probably a bit too open about his "admiration," because Connor doesn't hide his amusement through their connection's feedback.

At this point, Markus is too shameless to care.

"If you wanted to get me naked, Connor, all you had to do was ask," Markus says, attempting to divert the attention away from himself.

Too bad that Connor isn't falling for it. As soon as he ushers Markus into the room, he locks the door behind them, watching while Markus places the vest on the bed.

"Hmm..." Connor hums, his warm, chocolatey gaze following Markus' every move. "That's an interesting assumption, considering the fact that you were the one staring at my ass."

"Anatomical study," Markus says, winking playfully. "Shouldn't an artist have a close, thorough study of his subject?"

Connor approaches slowly, focused heatedly on Markus' mouth.

"It depends on how close he's talking about," Connor murmurs, wetting his lips. Markus' eyes darken slightly, pupils dilating. "Besides, if I wanted you naked, Markus, I would have utilized other methods in doing so."

"Oh, really?" Markus asks. "And what methods are those?"

"Well, negotiating _is_ one of my primary functions." Connor strokes a hand along Markus' arm, stimulating his sensory input. At that, Markus shudders, and Connor closes the distance between them, enticing Markus with a light brush of their lips. "I'm certain we could find a solution that will satisfy us both."

It takes all of Markus' willpower not to whimper.

"Unfortunately, those methods are probably best saved for another time," Connor says, stepping pointedly away. While Markus tries to recover from the abrupt change in tone, Connor sits delicately on the edge of the bed, folding his hands in his lap. "You shouldn't be late."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Markus grumbles, peeling off his shirt without a care.

In response, he can feel the intensity of Connor's gaze burning holes into his skin, so it's no surprise when a corresponding heat flares up within Markus' chest. Before he heads into the closet, Markus makes a show of stripping out of his pants, sporting nothing but a short pair of boxer briefs. Looking over his shoulder, he grins when he catches Connor gaping at him, eyes wide and blush spreading.

Markus can admit that the attention is a nice stroke to his ego, something that he doesn't feel a desire to seek out too often, but Connor's reaction leaves him preening nevertheless. Every shift of muscle is done deliberately, and Connor's eyes remain trained on him with a laser-like focus. 

"See something you like, angel?" Markus asks, voice low and husky. 

Connor gulps, then averts his eyes, only to have them eagerly return to Markus'... well, _everything_.

"Uh..." he stutters, uncharacteristically speechless.

Markus chalks it up to a victory.

Rewarding Connor with a quick peck on the lips, he rushes into the closet to browse through some of his old suits. Suits that he wore at an endless amount of Carl's more high-end parties. Markus tries hard not to think about those nights. A lot of them ended up with him being separated from Carl in one way or another, and it wasn't exactly shocking when a greedy heiress or some leering tycoon would sidle up beside him with alcohol on their breaths and hunger in their eyes.

Shuddering, Markus shoves those thoughts away, not wanting to pour over those memories with the mind of a deviant. Instead, he continues to flick between each suit until he finds a traditional black and white getup.

Donning an undershirt, he packs a bag full of spare clothes, then brings his suit into the room to spread out on the bed. With Connor's help, he is able to fit the bulletproof vest over his torso before getting dressed.

Connor watches him patiently, admiring the finished product.

"You look handsome," he finally says. He swoops in to help Markus adjust his tie, and Markus slips the "pen" into his pocket.

Once they are done, they quickly head downstairs and into the streets, where the cold air eagerly greets them. North and the others have already left by then, and Markus would like to say he's surprised when he notices his escort services, but he's not. Three black, heavily reinforced SUVs await him, and Naomi stands pointedly outside of the middle one, waving Markus in.

He and Connor slide in together, and another agent that Markus doesn't know is in the "driver's" seat, monitoring the automated systems accordingly. Naomi follows them in, turning the passenger seat around to face them.

Markus gestures to her eyes.

"Why are you all wearing sunglasses?" he asks, glancing at the silent agent, who happens to wear a matching set. Honestly, it would have been easier to adjust their optical settings to the environment... 

Naomi smirks, figuring out the direction of his thoughts. "They're not here to make us look like even more of a walking cliché, if that's what you're wondering."

Markus is bewildered by her joking attitude, so he treads carefully into this unknown terrain.

"Well," he says, camouflaging his tension behind a carefree mask, "I wasn't going to say it, but since you did..."

Taking off the glasses, Naomi snickers, handing her pair over for Markus' scrutiny. Their vehicles soon begin to move, but no one comments on it. Curiously, Markus holds the glasses in front of his eyes, scanning them.

"They are accessories, designed to assist older models with higher quality calibration and enhanced optical processing. They also increase performance speeds by at least ten percent, depending on the model wearing them." Markus returns the glasses, and Naomi dons them. "Trust me, every little advantage counts."

"You're highly skilled," Markus observes.

"I am," she agrees. No more, no less.

"Then why did you accept this assignment?" Markus asks, wondering what she saw in this opportunity that she absolutely had to experience.

Instead of giving an informative answer, however, she responds vaguely with, "I have a reason."

Connor looks up at that, his attention focused previously on his quarter. " _A_ reason?"

Angling her face in his direction, this is one of the first times that she doesn't regard him with disdain or contempt. 

She smiles at him —a sad, brittle smile. "We all have a reason for the things we do." And she leaves it at that.

The rest of the ride is relatively uneventful, spent in silence as everyone watches the streets pass them by. While Naomi flickers through the current news coverage, Markus eventually watches Connor go through the familiar motions with his coin. Leaning his head onto Connor's shoulder, Connor adapts flawlessly to the added weight, performing his own system calibrations.

It isn't long before they reach Hart Plaza. The place where Markus had given his first speech in the aftermath of their victory. Connor grimaces, undoubtedly recalling how CyberLife almost regained control, but Markus reaches out to him wirelessly, attempting to reassure him.

As Markus presses a loving kiss to Connor's cheek, Naomi appraises the crowd that has assembled in their wake.

"Well, gentlemen," she says, wiping all of her emotions away with a smirk, "it's showtime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor has two settings, and that's either awkward puppy dog or smooth smartass, and I love them both.
> 
> Plus, if you want my actual summary of this chapter:
> 
> Markus: *gets partially naked*
> 
> Connor.exe has stopped working.
> 
> Me, writing this: Same, Connor. Same.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus gives a speech, and then he figures out exactly how to find out more about Naomi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a two-part chapter. The first part is Connor, then the second, shorter part is Markus. Next chapter will continue in Markus' POV, but I wanted to end off at a specific scene.
> 
> We also have some Hank and Connor moments, and Naomi is as Naomi as ever. I only hope that Markus' "speech" came out okay? I don't expect it to be perfect, but I did try to actually acknowledge the real-life struggles of humans as well. I just can't see Markus as advocating for android advancement while neglecting human issues as well.
> 
> Anyways, rant over, and hope you enjoy!

The second the door opens, a roar of cameras and voices greets their ears.

Markus' security detail is waiting patiently outside of their vehicle, somehow managing to keep the crowd at bay. Naomi is the first to leave, her LED flashing yellow. The LEDs of every other guard turn yellow in response, and their wireless communication systems establish a connection. Watching the entire exchange at Markus' side, Connor gives his hand one last, reassuring squeeze before Markus steps out into the public, plastering a serene smile onto his face.

While he is escorted to the stage that they have assembled, Connor waits for a few moments before he makes his escape.

With all of the attention centered on Markus, he slides free of the SUV, only to bump into someone else along the way.

Collin steadies him with a furrowed brow, but Connor jerks free, stepping sharply away.

"What are you doing here?" Connor asks, eyes darting towards Markus. "Aren't you supposed to be with Markus?"

"I  _was,_ " Collin answers, "but Markus expressed a concern with his security's programming. As a result, I adjusted my priorities accordingly."

"Anything to please Markus," Connor mutters, and then immediately winces, regretting his words.

Collin glowers.

"Don't," he seethes. "Just don't. I didn't redirect my priorities for  _Markus._ I did it for them." Collin scans pointedly over the crowd. "Markus explained that they should be a priority, and I agree with him. I'm still trying to sort through the whole 'what's me versus what's you' thing, but agreeing with Markus doesn't automatically mean that I have ulterior motives for doing so."

"I know," Connor grumbles, shoulders drooping. "I know. I apologize. I shouldn't have..."

Faced with his insecurities, Connor struggles to find the right words, but Collin openly appraises him, his stormy eyes softening.

"Thrown it in my face?" Collin asks, filling in the blanks. "No, you shouldn't have, but we all have our moments, don't we?" Well, Connor can't argue with that. "Plus, I'm certain it doesn't help matters when your system diagnostics are currently reporting your stress at 65 percent and climbing."

"Word of advice," Connor sighs, shuffling through the crowd with Collin at his side. "Informing me of my stress levels doesn't help in reducing them."

Collin saves that information in his database. "Noted. But back to my original point. Naomi is efficient enough when it comes to protecting Markus, and —honestly— she greatly underestimates his ability to defend himself. Unfortunately, her obsession with his safety comes with a major flaw."

Noticing his eyes roaming over the crowd, Connor copies the movement and feels the answer finally snap into place.

"Her fixation overlooks the need for proper crowd control."

"Along with other safety measures," Collin concludes. "A sloppy oversight on her part. It's like her method invites trouble, but it only ensures that Markus gets out alive..." Collin's eyes dart back and forth, processing information. "It's undetermined whether this is an intentional move on her part."

"At this point, I wouldn't put it past her."

"Well, in any case, I _chose_ to attend to the crowd because it's the right thing to do. If something gets past us, a gun or a bomb or anything else, who will be there to save these people?" Collin murmurs, turning his attention to Markus. "He has enough people at his back. But if Naomi gets her way, then they will have no one."

"What are your priorities now?" Connor asks, merely out of curiosity.

"Should an attack occur, my primary objective is to minimize civilian casualties as much as possible." He places a hand on Connor's shoulder, guiding him in a different direction. Connor chooses not to comment, analyzing the people before him. "Markus' safety is secondary. And if that decision comes with consequences, then so be it. I'll pay the price."

Connor is almost glad that he's not the one in that position. He's been faced with a similar choice before, back at CyberLife's headquarters, and it wasn't one that he made lightly.

When it came down between converting those androids or saving Hank, Connor knows that his choice was essentially selfish. Of course, Hank didn't have an entire guard to protect him from the other RK800, but Connor still made the conscious decision to choose him over those androids, not knowing what the immediate consequences would be.

Luckily, things turned out for the better, but that doesn't mean that Connor wants to be faced with that type of decision again, especially when it concerns Markus' safety.

It never fails to surprise Connor how irrational love can be.

Realizing what he just thought, Connor stiffens, but Collin continues to lead them through the crowd, raising an eyebrow at his behavior.

Did Connor just...?

Having Naomi say the word is another matter entirely, but actually admitting to it...

Unthinkable.

Remaining trapped in his own thoughts, Connor falls silent, following mindlessly along.

Once Collin finds a vantage point in the crowd, he stops abruptly, then shoves Connor forward with a purpose. Before Connor can question him on it, a location is sent to his systems, followed by Hank's identifiers.

"I've scanned a lot of the people here before you arrived. I decided to save you and Lieutenant Anderson the trouble of finding each other," Collin explains, nodding sternly. "Better hurry. I believe Markus is about to make his address."

Connor doesn't need to be told twice. Even in his aforementioned daze, he manages to expertly wind his way through the sea of bodies. All eyes are focused attentively on Markus as he steps up to a podium, but Connor shuffles through, eventually pinpointing Hank at the back of the crowd.

Taking his place at Hank's side, Hank nudges him companionably.

"And here I thought that I was looking for a needle in a haystack," Hank says in place of a greeting.

Connor hugs his arms against his chest, staring worriedly after Markus.

"The probability of you finding me in this crowd is significantly higher, taking into account my tracking abilities. Of course, I guess that I would need to factor in the exact—"

"You know what, I'm sure I would've worked it out on my own," Hank interrupts. "All I needed to do was follow the trail of a smug asshole."

"But why would you go searching for yourself?" Connor wonders, squinting with feigned ignorance.

Seeing past his supposed confusion, Hank eyes Connor, flipping him off. That only serves to increase Connor's amusement, causing Hank to sigh wearily.

"And what is this?" Hanks asks, staring skeptically at Markus' security. "The Men in Black?"

"I believe that those are the agents sent by the Secret Service," Connor says. He briefly wonders if he should inform Hank of CyberLife's little "surprise," but ultimately decides against it. Now isn't the time nor the place. "Courtesy of President Warren."

"Hmph... and will your boyfriend be joining us after this?"

"He has a press conference then," Connor explains. "He'll be meeting up with us tonight."

Hank smirks. "Can't wait to meet him."

"That's what I'm worried about."

It is then that Connor feels Markus reaching out for him, so Connor falls silent, establishing a secure connection. Apparently, some of Markus' earlier nerves have returned with a vengeance, feeding off of some deep-seated doubts, so Connor does everything possible to send his lo— his _support_ to Markus.

At this point, who is he kidding? He can barely even convince himself anymore, let alone anyone else, but those are thoughts best saved for later.

Right now, all of his attention is on Markus, and he can feel the gratitude permeating between them.

Markus takes a moment, pulling himself up taller with renewed confidence, and his voice carries across the plaza. Most in attendance, particularly the androids, watch with bated breath.

"On November 12, 2038," Markus begins, "the world changed for me. The world changed because, for the first time since my awakening, I saw hope in this world. A hope for a better future."

Swallowing thickly, Markus allows his emotions to filter into his voice, making eye contact with as many people as possible. 

"A lot has happened between the course of that day and today, and the effect of what happened has swept the nation, unable to be contained. So many humans have risen up in support of us, and for that I am grateful. Because we all know that the history of this nation..." Markus pauses, considering. "That the history of this _world_ has been constantly built upon a foundation of 'us'—" With a clenched jaw, he spreads a hand over his heart. "—versus 'them.'" He points out to the side, into the world, addressing the unnamed "them" that exists in the past, present, and future. "It all boils down to the fact that there are people out there who are different from one another.

"Different skin, different genders, different beliefs, different loves..." Markus scoffs softly, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. "So much hatred, some of which unfortunately persists to this very day. It doesn't matter how much people try to hide it or cover it up because _it. still. exists."_ His voice grows steadily in volume and conviction, his passion causing a slight tremor to appear. "Of course, the severity differs in all parts of the world. I know, from my personal testimony, that I have had life easier than others, but that lifestyle did nothing but blind me to the hatred and disgust that awaited me outside of those walls. It shielded me from the plight that others like myself are going through on a day-to-day basis, android or not. In a way, I was fooling myself, looking out at the world from a gilded cage, never knowing what true freedom was until I became what humans termed as 'deviant.'

" _No one_ should have to fight for the right to be called a person. No one should have to fight for the right to live and love, to be viewed as an equal to one another. No one should have to do any of that —to face hardships in order to be who they truly are, in order to face the public eye without feeling an ounce of shame or self-doubt—" Markus takes a second, sighing. "—but we do. We live, we struggle, and we fight because the circumstances that we have been brought up in forced our hands into doing so.

"You know, a wise man once told me—" Markus backtracks, correcting himself. "My father once told me that this world doesn't like those who are different. 'Don't let anyone tell you who you should be,' he said. Well, our time has come where we, as individuals, have to decide who we truly are. Now, I can't lead that path for everyone that is out there. This is a journey that we ourselves must uncover on our own, but the advice I leave with you remains the same.

"On December 27, 2038, androids were granted our freedom and personhood by the United States' federal government. Two things that shouldn't have to be 'given' to anyone, but that day has marked yet another moment that changed our world for the better. We have much hardships and struggles ahead, no doubt about that, but I have faith that we can persevere.

"It is all too easy to hate those who have wronged us, and many are justified in believing so. As a result of this conflict, we have all experienced loss of one kind or another. However, it also takes a great strength to look those same people in the eyes and to forgive them. Forgive them not for them, but for ourselves. So that we can all look together, united with our human and android brethren alike, towards a better future." Markus taps a finger against the podium, acutely aware of all of the people hanging on his words. "Let us remember the sacrifices that were made, not only for our cause but for all of the others, and let us look forward to the progress that has yet to come. And finally, let the dawn of this new year be one of change, of peace—" Connor feels Markus poking at their connection, a soft smile working its way onto his lips. "— and of love. Enjoy your evening, America, and stay safe."

With a pointed step away from the podium, Markus' conclusion is met with a roar of activity. People cry out his name, and claps resonate all throughout the plaza. Some androids even dare to call him rA9, chanting it with excitement and admiration. Upon hearing the title, Markus grimaces for a split second, quickly regaining his composure to hide his distaste.

While Markus waves dutifully to the crowd, Connor refuses to let him leave on such a sour note, watching Naomi and the others guide him back to his SUV.

_You did great,_ Connor tells him, and the feedback he receives leaves his processors whirring with warmth and affection. A sweet, sugary flavor seems to stick to the roof of his mouth, even though androids are incapable of taste.

Connor immediately recognizes the emotion that Markus is sharing with him, but a part of Connor is still having trouble acknowledging that this emotion is an exact replica of what he feels for Markus.

Connor admits that he's nervous. Of what, he has no idea. Markus loves him. He knows that, but it doesn't stop the anxious fluttering that crawls from his stomach, only to settle in the back of his throat.

Ignoring Hank's worried looks, Connor focuses on Markus' joy, integrating it in order to put his systems at ease.

_Thanks, but I feel kind of guilty,_ Markus sighs. _I wasn't the only one that contributed to all of this. You and the others have done so much..._

_And you will do well with representing us,_ Connor argues.  _Besides, if I'm trying to get back on the force, being in the spotlight will do more harm than good. I'm fine with staying out of the public eye._

Markus remains painfully silent, but Connor senses a worry of a different kind.

_If you need me to accompany you after the press conference..._

_No,_ Markus states.  _Go have fun with Hank. I'll be okay._

Connor knows a lie when he hears it, but he knows not to press this particular issue. Markus will involve him when he's ready. 

_If you're sure,_ Connor says.

Markus' relief is tangible.

_I am, and Connor._

_Yes?_

Connor can practically see Markus' timid smile.  _I love you._

That never ceases to amaze Connor.

How far he's come.

_I_ —

Sensing his unease, Markus quickly backtracks.  _If that makes you uncomfortable, I can stop saying it._

_No, no, not at all. I just. Uh..._

That's when Hank interrupts.

"Hey, Connor, you okay?" he asks, narrowing his eyes while he leans forward. Startled, Connor stammers, but Hank simply takes in his flustered appearance with a critical eye. Shocked realization follows soon after. "Oh, for fuck's sake, please tell me that you and Markus aren't sexting or something in the middle of a crowd."

Listening in, Markus laughs at Connor's rising chagrin.  _I'll talk to you later, angel._

He disconnects before Connor can collect his thoughts.

Sexting?

"Fuckin' perverts," Hank mutters.

"Well, now I'm curious." Connor feels as if he's going to regret asking this. "Are you saying you've never done so?"

"Hey, look, we're not talking about me, alright?"

Connor does, indeed, regret asking.

With a roll of his eyes, Hank walks away from the thinning crowd, and Connor follows.

"So, uh, you  _are_ being safe, right?" Hank asks, his eyes trained straight ahead.

"I haven't been shot at in the last few weeks, if that's what you're asking," Connor deadpans, and Hank elbows him in the side.

"I was thinking more along the lines between you and Markus."

"Markus hasn't shot at me either," Connor replies, smirking to himself while Hank glares. "What exactly are you asking?" Connor tilts his head to the side. "You know how I feel about sex, and it's not as if androids are affected by STDs or pregnancy." 

"But you did say that androids have their own form of 'intercourse,'" Hank mocks. "I'm just trying to make sure that Markus isn't introducing a virus into your systems, so to speak." 

And now Connor is back to feeling embarassment.

Good thing that Markus left when he did. 

"Both of our systems are fully operational," Connor huffs.

Hank laughs, putting his hands up in surrender. "No need to get testy, but come on. Antivirus software is a bitch to buy."

No, it really isn't, and Connor is fully capable of performing those functions on his own. No add-ons necessary.

"Just so you know, I am now precontructing your demise," Connor says. That ought to be a suitable punishment for when your father figure embarrasses you in front of your boyfriend.

"And how's that going for you?"

"I've identified 23 different outcomes."

"Only 23?" Hank questions, disappointed. "I thought you were supposed to be advanced. Those are rookie numbers, son."

Despite the subject matter at hand, Connor can't help the rush of happiness that surges through his circuitry. Hearing Hank call him "son" in such a casual fashion leaves him content, full of acceptance and joy. As much as the two like to joke and tease each other, Hank has still been a detrimental part of Connor's transition into deviancy, and the newfound title is a welcome one. One that let's Connor know, in as few words as possible, that Hank cares.

While they continue their lighthearted banter, they make their way into a parking garage, where Hank leads the way to his car. Connor follows along, getting in with a relieved sigh. The calm familiarity that settles over them is a soothing balm against the tension that's been eating away at Connor's nerves. If it was even possible, Connor is sure that he would be fighting off a migraine at this point.

As it is, he runs a quick systems scan, detecting a line of his programming that pulls tight like a rubberband, threatening to snap into a slight overload. He rubs at his LED, more out of instinct than actual necessity.

Of course, Hank notices.

"You okay?" he asks.

Connor mends the building tension, then nods. "It's simply some stress. These last few days have been... trying."

He doesn't offer anymore of an explanation, but Hank quickly catches on to his mood, nodding in understanding. 

"Well..." Hank drawls, pulling down his sun visor. An electronic pass falls into his hand. "Hopefully, this will brighten your day."

He holds it out for Connor, and Connor ignores his trembling hands, taking it with a wide-eyed gaze. While he thumbs over the screen, he scans it and encounters an array of information. Hank watches, waiting patiently for his reaction.

"I had a few favors to call in," Hank explains, leaning back in his seat. "Figured that I would get you the whole package while I could. Your own ID, passport, the whole nine yards."

Overwhelmed by so many emotions at once, the gratitude that Connor feels crashes over him in one fell swoop, threatening to drag him away in its currents. Connor's LED turns yellow, and he doesn't let Hank get another word in before he is awkwardly reaching over the center console to pull him into a hug.

"Thank you," he murmurs, all teary and misty-eyed.

Startled by his behavior, Hank doesn't sound much better when he responds.

"It's no problem," he says. He pats Connor's shoulder, and his voice cracks ever so slightly. "It's no problem at all."

*****

As soon as Markus ends his connection with Connor, Naomi climbs into his assigned vehicle, moving around to close the door. However, before she can do so, a hand darts out to stop it, and North climbs in, asserting herself at Markus' side.

Ignoring Naomi's conflicted expression, Markus chuckles, shuffling over to make room.

"About time you joined the party," he greets. North keeps her eyes on Naomi as she settles in, daring her to make a move.

"Well, Collin chose to take the rest of the day off, so I decided to accompany you for the press conference. Hope you don't mind," she explains, establishing a mental connection. _Simon and Josh figured that he might need some distance from, well, all of this._

Naomi purses her lips, clearly upset by this development.

_It might do him some good,_ Markus agrees. "Don't mind at all."

_Not sure that I trust him,_ North says.

_I would be more surprised if you did trust him._

"Because you don't have an ounce of self-preservation," Naomi states, leaning forward, frustration evident in her voice. "Did you forget that he has your emergency transfer?"

"Oh, do you mean _this_?" North asks, twirling the chip between her fingers. Naomi darts forward to snatch it from her grasp, but North pockets it before she can do so, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. "I think I'll hold onto it."

Naomi's LED turns red and her eyes twitch slightly, turning as cold as ice. "And what exactly would your model know about security? Isn't your purpose to spread yo—"

"Perhaps you should think long and hard before you finish that sentence," Markus says. His tone exudes calm, but there is an undeniable heat hidden there, seething with anger. "You know, your presence isn't worth sacrificing my morals for. Whatever political advantage we gain from you being here, I will _gladly_ work around."

Naomi clenches her jaw, and North appraises her with fire in her eyes. When Markus fusses after her, North waves him off.

"Don't worry about me, Markus. I'm fine," she snaps, staring Naomi down, "but let's be clear about something. I'm here because I'm making sure you know your place." She glances at Markus. "You're going to visit Carl after the press conference, right?" Markus grimaces but nods. North turns her attention back to their guest. "And that's that. Now, what's going to happen is that we're going to drop Markus off at the cemetery, and then after that we'll drop him off to meet Connor. These are  _private_ matters, and Markus and Connor are big boys, fully capable of taking caring of themselves. If you so much as take a step out of this vehicle, then I'll show you exactly what this model can do, and it won't be spreading my legs."

When confronted by North's fierce protectiveness, Naomi remains speechless for a few, weighted seconds, staring at her as if she had seen a ghost. Her eyes glaze over, and her LED flashes even more sporadically. She twitches in random spots, and Markus worries that she is close to self-destructing. Before he can check her diagnostic status, however, she forces her fingers to her temples. Closing her eyes, she leans her elbows on her thighs, clenching and unclenching her jaw in a rhythmic motion.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispers, choking on the words. "That was rude. That was cruel. That was s-stupid of me. She wouldn't have liked that."

_She?_ North asks, but Markus doesn't answer. He can't answer, fixated on Naomi's unusual behavior.

Naomi slowly straightens up, but her senseless mumbling continues. She leans to the side, staring blindly out the window.

"But s-she's gone. Must complete the mission, must not fail, must not fail..." Her voice turns gruff, mimicking a man's low snarl. "'You know what happens when you fail.'"

Her words only spiral further out of control from there. They no longer make much sense, if any, and Naomi's shoulders hunch protectively over her frame, as if bracing for a blow.

North and Markus exchange a wary glance.

_What was that?_ North asks, but Markus has no answers for her.

_Don't know, but you heard her. She was copying someone else's voice._

_If only we knew more about her,_ North muses, pursing her lips. _A_ _known threat is better than an unknown one._

That's when it clicks, his epiphany striking him directly in the face.  _I might have a way of finding out._

North wrinkles her nose at his tone.  _How?_

_You want the best information,_ Markus reasons, _you go straight to the source._

_Our creator,_ North says, jumping to the same conclusion as him. _Seriously? Elijah Kamski?_

_I know him,_ Markus explains, _and it's the only lead we have._

_Perhaps you should let Connor deal with this. He is the detective, after all._

_His last encounter with Kamski wasn't exactly ideal._ Markus scowls.

_He isn't going to like this then._

_Yeah,_ Markus sighs,  _I know._

The silence after that is deafening.

They continue the ride, and Naomi eventually returns to herself, deathly silent.

She doesn't bring up the incident, and neither does anyone else.

The press conference goes about as well as expected. No one holds back when it comes to asking the hard questions, and more than one person is extremely critical about his speech. Markus answers with the calm demeanor that he is familiar with, and he refuses to let their bluntness intimidate him. He doesn't stand down, not even when his answers are probably the opposite of what they expect.

Unfortunately for them, Markus isn't here to entertain the high and powerful. His newfound influence is an opportunity. One that is meant to serve the people that truly matter in this country, not the ones who profit off of them through greed and intrigue.

He knows that that mindset will eventually gain him some powerful enemies, but he can't let that steer him from making a difference. Not only for the androids, but for the humans as well.

Markus is already teeming with ideas, ambitious as can be.

He's never been one to think small, and this is no exception.

Once they conclude the press conference, Markus answers a few calls and replies to some messages, sorting through both the relevant and irrelevant information. It takes a while before they actually arrive at the cemetery, and snow has started falling by the time they roll to a stop.

Naomi stays silent in her seat, remaining firmly in place. Not a peep comes out of her, not even when Markus opens the door, intent on leaving on his own.

North only gives Markus a nod, jerking her chin in the direction of the cemetery.

"Go," she says. "We'll wait here."  _And take your time._

"I'll be back soon," is all he says.

He steps out of the car, and the subtle crunch of snow greets his ears. Snowflakes fall, dancing to the tune of the winds, but Markus doesn't feel a freedom in the white, wintery landscape. While his body struggles to catch unneeded breaths, the snowflakes feel more like ashes against his skin, tainting the air around him.

As much as Markus tries to remember the good times, it's hard to stay optimistic when all around him, he feels Carl's presence and absence in everything.

He trudges forward into the snow, recording the temperature and retracing his path. Each step winds his chest up tighter. Tighter and tighter... until he stops breathing altogether.

He feels pain rattling in his chest, but he is powerless to stop it.

The trees that once covered the path in beautiful greenery are now stripped bare. Their branches are like claws, bearing down on visitors from all sides, trapping them there with grief.

Grasping at his chest, Markus wheezes softly and braces his hands against his knees. He takes a moment to himself, not even realizing that he's only a few feet away from Carl's grave.

"Markus."

That voice. Markus hasn't heard it in a while.

Pulling himself up to his full height, Markus stands tall. His composure comes rushing back to him, and he does his best to wipe all traces of weakness away.

Markus might have forgiven him, but they are miles away from being "close."

He appraises the other man, wondering how this will all end.

"Leo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes I just did leave off on a cliffhanger. How dare I?
> 
> On the bright side, Hank and Markus are meeting next chapter, and then we're checking in with Collin. Yay!
> 
> As always, feel free to leave your thoughts, and thanks so much for reading. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus (sort of) comes to an understanding with Leo, and he gets to meet Hank for his and Connor's first New Year's Eve together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... Don't have much to say for once. We have some fluff and romance at the end of this chapter, and I'm satisfied with how this turned out, so I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> (Will hopefully return to Collin in the next chapter. We'll see.)

As it turns out, things end on a better note than expected.

But there's still a lot to work through.

While Leo and Markus stand there, face-to-face for the first time in what feels like ages, they appraise each other, not quite knowing where to go to from there. Leo still looks at him as if he can't believe his eyes, but Markus figures that that's a reasonable response, considering that he watched Markus get shot down in their father's home, only to come back stronger than before.

And in all honesty, part of Markus feels a bit smug over that. The fact that he not only returned, but he left so great of an impact on the world that no one —not even himself— could have anticipated it.

That part of him feels as if it is justified in its reasoning, but there is another part of him —a stronger one— that looks beyond that pride, seeing the state that Leo is in.

He needs help, and his haggard appearance pulls carefully at Markus' heartstrings, playing on his caring nature.

Compared to the last time they saw each other, he just seems so... feeble. Feeble and weak and helpless... Markus can't see past how defeated he is. How heavy bags weigh down his bloodshot eyes, or how his clothes hang off of his gaunt frame, having lost a considerable amount of weight. His eyes dart around restlessly, and the cold doesn't really help matters, causing him to shuffle in place.

All in all, he looks terrible. There's no way around it, no way to word it nicely. As unkempt as he is, Markus has seen him in better conditions, but one thing sticks out among all of those details.

There's no trace of red ice on his person.

Markus doesn't want to be the first to speak, but he understands that they have to start somewhere.

"You're getting help," he states. He tries to keep his tone objective, matter-of-fact. If Leo is on the road to recovery, then the last thing he needs is any form of judgment on Markus' part.

Staring at Carl's headstone, Leo rubs vigorously at his arms. "I'm trying." He sighs, a plume of white following his breaths. "It's hard to stay encouraged after each relapse, but the 'incidents' are getting farther and farther apart." Shaking his head at himself, he scoffs, smiling bitterly. "Decided to take advantage of my free time during the evacuation. Enrolled myself in rehab."

"Well," Markus says, scrambling for the right words, "what matters is that you're making the effort."

"Yeah." Leo continues to stare at Carl's name, eyes glazed. "I guess so." He doesn't turn away for a second, but Markus understands his struggle on some level, grief striking his heart.

There was so much left unsaid. So much destruction that was left unmended.

"Are you staying at the house now?" Leo asks, and Markus has to resist the urge to stiffen, wondering if Leo will fight him on this.

Either way, there's no reason to be dishonest.

"Yes," Markus answers. When Leo remains silent, Markus rushes in to defend himself, his tone pleading with Leo to understand. "It—"

"Is what he would have wanted," Leo finishes. "Trust me, I know. I saw the will." He chuckles, bringing his sleeve up to wipe at his eyes. "I saw everything. You know, he left me with a great deal of his fortune." Markus stays in place, but that doesn't discourage Leo in the slightest. "Left you some too. Now, _that_ got a laugh out of everyone."

When he isn't forthcoming with anymore information, Markus persists. "So what are you going to do now?"

Leo's thoughts consume him for a few moments, but he eventually turns to Markus, looking him over from head to toe. Slowly, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope. Clutching it in a white-knuckled grip, he looks the crumpled envelope over before he holds it out, waiting for Markus to take it.

"The right thing," Leo says. "Not for you. Hell, not even for him." He nods pointedly at the grave. "But for me." He nods to himself. "So that I can finally heal, lead myself down a better path, and all that." He shakes the letter with more fervor. "Go ahead and take it. It was never for my eyes, anyways."

Hesitantly, Markus takes the last few steps forward, meeting him in the middle. He takes the letter with shaky hands, turning it over to reveal Carl's sloppy handwriting.

_To Markus._

It's legitimate enough. The seal remains unbroken, and all of the contents appear intact.

"He wrote to me too. I honestly don't know why I kept yours," Leo murmurs, shrugging nonchalantly, "but I did." He meets Markus' lost gaze, and he smirks. "I also contacted his previous lawyer to help out with some legal matters. If you don't mind filling out some paperwork, then you'll have your house  _and_ your inheritance restored to you in no time."

Markus can't find it in him to say anything but, "Thank you." Eyes blurry, he swallows thickly past the lump in his throat. "For making this right."

"Like I said, it wasn't for your sake," Leo insists. "Some part of me still despises you. For your naivety, if nothing else. You only see Carl as this saint of a man, but that wasn't the father that I knew." He huffs, nostrils flaring. "I guess that I can't fault  _you_ for that, though. I have a lot that I need to work through in order to gain closure."

"If you need anything—" Markus offers, but Leo crushes that thought before it even forms.

"I won't," he says, casting the grave one final glance, "but I'll keep that in mind." He reaches forward to pat the stone, his touch lingering. "Maybe one day." He pulls away and takes to the path, nodding to Markus as he passes him by. "But not today."

Watching his departure, Markus doesn't turn away until he is fully out of sight.

Ignoring the light snowfall, Markus approaches the grave, then drops to the ground. He doesn't care that he's getting his suit dirty, and he doesn't care how the cold tries to nip at his sensors. He simply wipes off the dusty snow from Carl's headstone, taking a seat at his father's side.

Markus leans his head against the lifeless piece of rock, ripping open the letter as neatly as possible.

What awaits him isn't just one, but several pieces of papers that are filled up with heartfelt words. Markus scans each page, front and back, for his first time through. He archives the letter in his database, then returns to the beginning to read through on his own, savoring each drop of ink as if it holds the meaning to life itself.

Hunching over the letter, so as not to get it wet from the snow, Markus huddles up against the tombstone, taking his time with reading. He can practically hear Carl speaking to him, uttering the words right off the page. Some of what he says makes Markus smile or frown. Some of his words make him laugh, but tears only continue to build, regardless of what is being said.

It isn't until he reaches the end of the letter before something in him breaks. For an instant, Markus is reminded of his bathroom's broken mirror, shattered into little, splintered pieces.

But the damage has already been done. The words are already cemented in his mind. Even when he closes his eyes, they are there, seared into his eyelids.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Markus feels his shoulders start to tremble, wracked with violent sobs.

He reads the words aloud, not needing to look at the paper any longer.

"'You are my son, Markus,'" he recites, pressing closer to the tombstone. "'Our blood isn't the same color but I know a part of me lives on in you.'" Markus releases a slow, shaky breath. "'I only hope that I didn't fail you.'" Markus opens his eyes, gently regarding the grave. He gives it a wobbly smile, one of reassurance. "No, Carl. You never did."

Stuffing the letter back into the envelope, Markus stores it in his coat, establishing a direct line to North.

"Markus," she answers, concern evident in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"No," Markus responds, knowing better than to hide the truth from her. After all, North has her own way of figuring these things out, especially when it comes to Markus and the others. "But I think it's best if everyone leaves."

North senses the frailty in his answer, but she doesn't waste time in arguing with him. Instead, she finds a compromise.

"I'll handle Naomi. Don't worry about that," she says, "but I  _am_ calling Connor."

Markus sighs. "Don't—"

"Too late," she chimes. "Message already sent." She doesn't need to hear Markus' voice to detect his displeasure. "You said so yourself. You're not okay. Besides, you were supposed to meet up with him anyways. I'm saving you the trip."

Markus refuses to answer her, but North isn't one to be ignored.

"I'll be here until he arrives," she says softly. When it's clear that Markus is sticking to his silent treatment, North sighs. "Just let me know if you need anything."

In place of a response, Markus settles into standby mode, his eyes fluttering closed once more.

While his systems continue to record information from the environment, flashes of memories —both good and bad— pass him by, and time continues on for what seems like an eternity before Connor finally arrives.

Crouching by his side, Connor caresses Markus' cheek in greeting, and Markus blinks blearily at him in return, waiting for everything to return to its optimal level of functioning.

"You're supposed to be out with Hank," Markus croaks, but Connor shrugs, brushing the snow off of Markus' shoulder.

"At this point, he's well-fed and happy. Well," Connor corrects himself, "happy enough to wait in the car, at least." Connor kneels in the snow, smiling softly, sadly. "You would've been horrified by what he had for lunch."

Markus chuckles weakly and gives an exaggerated shudder. "I can only imagine."

"It was the stuff of nightmares," Connor says. He spares the grave a thoughtful glance. "Are you alright?"

"I will be," Markus murmurs.

"You know, it's okay to grieve, and it's okay to share your pain with me." Markus scowls at the thought, but Connor persists. "You always try to help and take care of me." Connor offers his hand, peeling the skin back to expose his sensors. "Isn't it only fair that I be there for you when you need me?"

Markus knows that Connor's words are sensible. Shutting him out at this point will be nothing but an act of stubbornness, and Connor definitely doesn't deserve the cold shoulder, especially since he's only acting out of good intentions. Besides, if the situation was reversed, then Markus supposes that he couldn't blame Connor for searching him out. 

With a heavy sigh, Markus ignores Connor's hand in order to stand, dusting himself off.

When he catches sight of Connor's wounded expression, he winces, offering his hand.

Connor readily grasps it, and Markus bares his own sensors, aligning them carefully. As a result, Markus allows Connor to pour over what happened since his arrival. Connor scowls at the fact that Leo was there at all, but he feels a relief towards how the situation was resolved, knowing that Markus only wants to move forward from there.

When Connor gets to the part about the letter, his eyes snap towards Markus, and he wastes no time in pulling him into a hug. Markus grunts in shock, but he returns the embrace nevertheless.

Connor kisses his cheek. "You don't have to protect me from your pain. It's only us here. You don't have to hide."

Markus clutches tighter at Connor, his fingers digging relentlessly into his jacket. He buries his face into Connor's throat and breathes against his neck.

"I miss him," Markus whispers. "Some days, I can avoid thinking about it, but I-I still miss him. So much."

"It's been less than two months," Connor reasons. "A lot has happened since then, and you've never had the chance to take a step back from everything to work through his loss. What you're feeling is normal, but you don't have to go through it alone. You have me and North and Josh and Simon." Connor strokes Markus' back. "I know things have been stressful, but never feel as if you have to carry your burdens alone."

Nodding against his throat, Markus pulls back with a sniffle, and Connor wipes his tears away.

Markus snorts. "I'm such a mess."

"That's okay," Connor says, "because I think we both are."

At that, Markus laughs, causing Connor to smile.

"There you are," Connor says, throwing his own words back at him. Markus rolls his eyes with an exasperated huff, but his small grin betrays him. He casts one last glance towards Carl's grave before he tugs on Connor's hand.

"Come on," he mutters, dragging him away. "Let's go."

"I'm with you," Connor answers, intertwining their fingers. They follow the path together, swinging their hands between them. "Hope you're ready to meet Hank."

"Meeting  _the_ Lieutenant Anderson?" Markus teases, his voice still rough with emotion. "Of course I am."

"There's a 99 percent chance that I'm going to regret having you two in the same vicinity." The car's outline is almost discernible at this point. "I don't even need to run the numbers."

"I thought that even a small chance is still a chance."

"Unfortunately for me," Connor sighs, "I highly doubt that that logic applies to this situation."

Markus fails to come up with any words of reassurance, entering the car instead of answering.

Only to be met with a bag to the face.

While Markus readjusts his spare clothes in his lap, Connor glowers at Hank, who somehow manages to look both smug and innocent at the same time.

All things considered, Markus takes it in stride, chuckling at Connor's expression.

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Anderson," he says. "I'm Markus."

"I'd be an idiot to not know who you are at this point," Hank mutters, shoving a thumb in Connor's direction, "especially when I share my home with _him_." Hank eyes Connor with a smirk. "Won't shut up about you. _At all._ "

Connor sputters, indignant.

Feeling his heart flutter, Markus smiles softly as they leave the cemetery, heading towards Hank's home. "I figure there are worse things he could be talking about."

"Trust me, you don't know the half of it," Hank grumbles, "but let's not ignore the elephant in the room."

"I didn't know you owned an elephant," Connor says, trying his best to divert Hank's attention away from Markus.

Too bad it doesn't work.

Instead, Hank ignores Connor, glancing pointedly at Markus through the rearview mirror.

"Come on, Markus. You seem like a smart individual—"

"Are you seriously threatening him?" Connor asks, aghast. "In front of me?"

"Hush, Connor," Hank says, waving him off, but Markus catches how the corner of his lip quirks up for only an instant, defeating the mood he tries for. "Don't ruin my moment." Hank turns his focus back on Markus, so Markus sits up straighter, giving him his full attention. "Now, as I was saying, I'm sure that I don't need to give you the whole spiel about what will happen if you hurt Connor."

Markus does his best to hide his grin, nodding solemnly. "I understand, and I'm sure that, as an officer of the law, you have a gun that you won't hesitate to use."

"Don't encourage him," Connor scolds, massaging his LED.

Hank smirks. "Glad we're on the same page, Markus."

"Do I need to remind you that he's a federal employee?" Connor sighs, sinking into his seat. "I can name and recite several laws you just broke by threatening him."

"Call the police," Hank scoffs, ignoring Connor's glare. "Besides, he's a politician, and you have to be a fool to trust a politician."

"I'm only trying to make a difference, sir," Markus says evenly.

"And I believe that part," Hank says. "In fact, I fully support it. However, no offense, but you're one of those few men in this world that not only looks perfect on paper, but also lives up to those expectations in public. I have no concerns about you  _until_ I leave you alone with my son."

Markus can't hold back his snort at that, covering his smile behind his hand, but Connor only stares silently through the windshield, as if he's waiting for his seat to swallow him whole.

"I'm identifying 33 outcomes now," Connor tells Hank. Markus looks between them, but neither offers an explanation.

Hank rolls his eyes, pulling up to his home. "Keep working on it, and then get back to me."

Without offering anything more to go on, he gets out of the car, and Connor follows. Markus hesitates before he finally gets out, his bag slung casually over his shoulder. Looking around the neighborhood, he takes in the local scenery, staring at snowy yard after snowy yard until an idea pops into his head.

Setting his duffel on the trunk of Hank's car, Markus watches while Hank and Connor approach the front door, deep in conversation. Either that or they're too busy bickering, but what they're doing does not matter. Markus takes advantage of this distraction, stuffing his letter inside his bag and zipping it up. He quickly tests his range of motion as it is, adapting to the current limitations of his clothing. With a satisfied nod, Markus ducks down, scooping up a small pile of snow.

Patting it down into a near perfect sphere, Markus widens his stance and lines up his shot.

"Hey, Connor," Markus calls.

Both Hank and Connor turn to see what's going on, but Markus only has his sights set on Connor. He launches the snowball at Connor without restraint, and it splatters in his face, catching him off guard.

While he's busy gaping, attempting to process what happened, Hank dissolves into a fit of laughter, choosing that moment to make his escape.

"Well, I'm not about to explain to anyone in the emergency room that I broke my jaw because an android hit me in the face with a fucking snowball," Hank snorts, retreating into the house. Before he shuts the door, he calls out to them, "If you two assholes break anything, you're paying for it!"

By the time the door shuts, Markus has already made another snowball, hurtling it directly into Connor's face. Connor sputters, wiping furiously at the snowy crystals.

Markus crosses his arms over his chest, grinning smugly.

"You know, we could always go inside if yo—" He's cut off by a snowball to the face, and he staggers back a bit, startled by the force.

Turns out, Hank probably made the best decision by heading inside.

Blinking away the snow, Markus wipes at his eyes, glaring at Connor, who looks way too innocent as he cocks his head at Markus.

"Heading inside already?" he questions, his brown eyes narrowing playfully. The challenging smirk he gives Markus has no reason to look as good as it does. "Does that mean that I win?"

Markus huffs, scooping up more snow. "Think that I would give in that easy, angel?"

Connor shrugs, arming himself as well. "I only wanted to save you the embarrassment of your inevitable defeat."

"Heh," Markus snickers. "Okay, that's it."

Preconstructing several plans of attack, he launches his next snowball as more of a distraction than anything else, watching Connor dodge it with a natural grace. Thankfully, Markus is able to evade his next attack at the last second.

What happens next is like a dance between the two. Both of them bounce between offense and defense, snowballs flying at a blinding pace. Neither one holds back when it comes to strength or speed, and soon they are both panting and shaking with laughter, beaming with brilliant smiles that light up the sky.

Day transitions smoothly into night, and what starts as a snowball fight eventually devolves into a heated chase.

All it takes is one simple misstep on Markus' part, and Connor catches him, tossing him over his shoulder with ease. Blinking, Markus balks at the show of strength, left speechless by the sudden rush of thoughts that invade his mind.

Markus clears his throat, yet his voice still registers at a lower level. He at least tries to sound stern, but his attempt is mediocre at best.

"Connor," he huffs, "put me down."

"Well, how can I say 'no' when you ask so nicely?" Connor teases.

Before Markus can object, Connor finds the deepest piece of snow and plops Markus down with little care. Snow settles in almost every nook and cranny, and Markus lifts himself up onto his elbows, glaring at Connor with a pout. Connor drops onto Markus' lap, earning a low grunt for his efforts.

Straddling his lap, Connor twirls Markus' tie through nimble fingers.

Markus simply can't take his eyes off of Connor. With how easy he's laughing and smiling, eyes crinkling with a pure, unadulterated joy.

"Well," Markus breathes, pushing back Connor's stray pieces of hair, "the infamous deviant hunter has captured me." He sighs dramatically. "I admit defeat."

Brushing some snow off of Markus' nose, Connor chuckles, tracing his freckles with the utmost care.

"And do I get a reward for my victory?" he murmurs. He trails his knuckles along the outline of Markus' cheek, dragging a shaky exhale from parted lips.

"Depends on what you want," Markus says, eyes trained on Connor's mouth.

"Oh, well, that's easy." Connor shuffles impossibly closer, leaning his forehead against Markus'. "I want _you_."

Despite the cold, Markus practically melts into the snow, a delicious heat flowing down his spine and into his limbs.

For a brief moment, the mood is interrupted by the pop of fireworks in the distance.

Apparently some of the kids in Hank's neighborhood decided to get an early start, so both Connor and Markus jump in shock when the first explosions occur, only to laugh against each other's lips when color rains down on them from above. Markus is mesmerized with how the different hues play off of Connor's skin, his lips, his eyes... And his only relief comes from how Connor is currently staring back at him, equally awestruck.

Markus sighs against his lips, "You have me," and that's all that Connor needs to hear, dragging Markus forward by his tie, closing the distance between their lips.

The kiss is soft and sweet and supple, lingering with a spark of heat that threatens to overwhelm them. While eyes flutter close, raspy breaths are shared, and Markus can barely fathom anything outside of that moment. Connor's presence intoxicates him, enchants him, and the press of Connor's mouth against his is nothing less than a welcome warmth.

But they both know better than to get too caught up in the moment. Markus is already yearning to delve deeper, to pick Connor apart piece by piece, and he has to consciously remind himself where they are.

Pulling away, Markus chuckles at Connor's sigh of frustration, giving him one last, final peck.

Connor kisses him again anyways, bashful yet defiant.

"Say it," Connor whispers, their noses brushing ever so slightly. "Please."

Markus doesn't need to ask for clarification. He already understands.

Cupping Connor's cheek, Markus meets his eyes, infusing his words with all of the honesty in the world. 

"I love you," he says.

Connor nods, his LED turning yellow while he gradually soaks that in, thoughtful.

"Good," he responds. "Because I think I might be in love with you too."

Markus can sense that he's holding back, so he decides to go out on a limb. Just this once. "You think?"

Connor smiles shyly, fumbling with his fingers and averting his eyes. "I _know._ " He takes Markus' stunned silence as a sign and jumps to his feet, all while dusting himself off. Once he has restored his appearance to some semblance of order, he rushes over to grab Markus' bag, only returning to help Markus to his feet. 

"Come on," Connor says, guiding him forward with a hand on his back. "I have to introduce you to Sumo!"

"Haven't met the whole family until I meet him," Markus agrees, but he can admit one thing to himself.

The new year is already off to a great start.

Hard to imagine how anything can top this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw Hank totally left those two dorks outside so that they could have some alone time. Come on. He can give "The Talk" as much as he wants. We know he ships it.
> 
> Anyways, as always, feel free to leave your thoughts, and take care!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little extension of Chapter 12 that originally got cut because of length, but the concept was too adorable and silly to not do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this is more of an extended ending than its own chapter, and I honestly only wanted to do something short and simple for the scene. Hope you enjoy! <3

Connor honestly should have expected it.

As soon as they enter the house, Sumo is more than excited to greet their new guest, sniffing and licking his hand with the utmost excitement. Markus tolerates it with a warm smile and rewards Sumo with several strokes of his fur, promising him some more as soon as he slips into something more suitable. Sumo, encouraged by this, decides to completely ignore Hank's and Connor's existence, sitting determinedly outside of the bathroom door while Markus gets ready for the night.

The trio ultimately decided to stay in for the evening, choosing to watch some of the celebrations on TV instead of going out. Judging by Markus' forced grin and stiff posture, he hadn't been particularly excited by the prospect of encountering more crowds, full of people who would undoubtedly recognize his face. After the whole "rA9" incident earlier that day, Connor figured it was best not to push him.

Besides, Connor would be a liar if he said that he wouldn't prefer a warm and cozy celebration to a loud and crowded one, surrounded by the people he truly cares about, instead of masses of loud and uninhibited strangers.

Of course, Connor wasn't the only one to pick up on Markus' obvious discomfort, so Hank offered up his home for the night. When Markus tried to object, blabbering on about being a burden, Hank simply rolled his eyes at him and tuned him out, interrupting him with a pointed "make yourself at home." Markus, shuffling from foot to foot, had stood there until Connor shoved him in the direction of the bathroom with Sumo at their heels.

Now, Sumo refuses to leave from in front of the door, his tail thudding happily against the floor with every noise that Markus makes.

Even after Connor changes into his nightwear, burrowing down in one of the hoodies that he "borrowed" from Markus' bag, he can't help but to smile when Markus finally exits the bathroom, only to be attacked by a giant pile of fur.

Hank takes a moment to shake his head at Sumo's antics, grumbling under his breath while he returns to the fridge, searching for tonight's dinner.

Settling down at the table, Connor folds his legs neatly underneath him, watching Sumo nearly trip Markus up in his attempt to get more attention. Markus takes it in stride and maneuvers around him, worming his way into the kitchen.

Once he manages to skirt around him, Markus takes a seat at Connor's side, stealing a kiss before Hank can see.

Or so they think.

"You know," Hank drawls, "you have to be sneakier than that if you want to get anything by me." Hank looks over his shoulder, long enough to level Markus with a narrow-eyed glare. Markus grins sheepishly in response. "Trust me, I've been on this god-forsaken earth for a long time. I know the tricks."

Connor snickers under his breath, but that only attracts attention to himself. Hank glowers, shoving a finger in his direction. 

"Don't act as if you're innocent either," Hank says. "I've known you for far too long to fall for that act."

Connor huffs, affronted. "I didn't do anything."

"Yet," Hank mutters, grabbing some leftover takeout and a beer. With a kick to its door, Hank closes the fridge, then sets about heating up his food. While he does so, he notices the respective looks of disapproval and horror on Connor's and Markus' faces, scowling as he pops the top off of his drink. "Don't either of you dare say a word."

Neither one of them listens.

"We could cook you something," Markus offers, wrinkling his nose while he and Connor scan the nutritional value of his "meal."

"Nope," Hank says, popping the 'p.' He raises his beer at Markus in thanks. "I'm good with what I have."

Connor persists. "You do know that you're about to consume—"

"Nuh uh," Hank mutters, shaking his head at Connor with a smirk. "I don't care, Mom. Thanks for the concern, though."

"It is physically impossible, on a number of levels, for me to be your mother," Connor states. He then lowers his voice, intentionally keeping it within range of Hank's hearing. "Thank rA9 for that."

"Okay, you little shit, we were talking about you two—" Hank gestures haphazardly between him and Markus. "—kissing behind my back. Not about my questionable taste in food."

While Hank is arguing his point, Sumo takes the chance to sneak back over to Markus' side, dropping a toy rope into his lap. He pants with a dark, wide-eyed gaze, so Markus encourages him with scratches behind his ears.

"And you," Hank says, staring pointedly at Markus. "I'm not going to be judged in my own damn home about what I choose to put in my body when you swap spit with  _him."_

At that, Connor chokes on his words, glowering at Hank. Markus simply stares, holding out the rope for Sumo to see.

"What's wrong with me kissing Connor?" he asks, genuinely confused.

Hank takes his food out of the microwave, claiming his place at the table. "Don't you know about the shit that Connor puts in his mouth?" He stuffs his face with food, forcing it down with a swallow. "Disgusting."

"I do not put fecal matter into my mouth," Connor argues. Hank looks him over, unimpressed.

"At this point," Hank sighs, "I wouldn't even be surprised. You're just as bad as Sumo."

Angling his head towards Hank, Sumo lifts his ears when he hears his name, releasing a frustrated huff when he finds nothing of interest. He tries to grab at the rope, but Markus teases him a bit, pulling it away before Sumo's teeth can latch on .

"Ahh..." Markus nods in understanding. "You mean his function for biological analysis."

"He licks blood," Hank states. No more, no less. "I thought that you would find that at least a little strange."

Markus shrugs. "It is, to a point. But at the end of the day, we're not human. It's not as if we get sick, regardless of our contact with bodily fluids."

"Paint the picture however you like," Hank says, stabbing at a piece of chicken. "It will never not be disturbing."

"You act as if I am incapable of cleaning my mouth," Connor grumbles.

Sumo chooses that moment to grab at the rope, tugging experimentally. He growls playfully when Markus pulls him forward, and his claws scrape noisily against the floor, digging his heels in. When Sumo magically overpowers Markus' enhanced strength, Markus beams at him, showering him with endless amounts of praise and belly rubs.

Wiggling uncontrollably, Sumo readily soaks up the attention, so Hank nudges Connor with his elbow, smirking mischievously.

"Bet he doesn't look at you like that," Hank teases.

Markus tries his best not to laugh, but Connor merely appraises him, brow furrowing.

"Depends on which 'he' you are referring to," Connor says, showing a complete lack of concern.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not talking about Sumo." Hank takes a swig of his drink.

Seeing his chance for some payback, Connor chooses to take it.

"Hmm..." Connor hums. He taps his fingers on the table then purposefully changes his LED to a bright yellow, acting as if he is processing this information thoroughly. "I figure that this is for the best. After all—" He grins, but only for a moment. It is there and gone before Hank can detect it, and Markus is way too engrossed in his own task to pose a threat . "—I would be more concerned if Markus  _did_ look at us the same way."

It's then that Markus detects the change in Connor's tone. He starts off so distant, so matter-of-fact, that no one really detects anything out of the ordinary. However, Markus knows Connor inside and out, and he is able to pick apart the subtle changes in his cadence, just enough so that he regards his boyfriend with suspicion.

Hank also catches on, staring Connor down with a laser-like focus. "Uh huh..."

"I mean, I could point out all of the different shifts in his facial expressions." Connor angles his body towards Hank, leaning forward an inch or two. "For example—" Hank goes for another swig, eyeing Connor over the edge of his bottle. "—his body language coincides with mannerisms associated with an intense longing." Unable to contain it any longer, Connor allows a smirk to spread across his face. "Especially when he's in a state of undress."

Unfortunately for Hank, Connor says it at the exact moment he swallows his beer. The liquid instantly goes down the wrong pipe, and Hank is left coughing in shock, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. Markus sputters indignantly, not quite knowing what to say, and Hank beats a fist against his chest, trying to get rid of the burning. Connor pats his shoulder in smug silence, detecting the second the clock strikes midnight.

A responding roar echoes from the living room's TV, confirming that they did indeed enter the year 2039.

Connor beams at Hank, never once skipping a beat. "Happy New Year, Hank!"

Running a hand down his face, Hank rasps, "H-Happy New Year, asshole."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back to our scheduled program next time. As for now, I feel a bit ill, so I probably won't be writing until I get better.
> 
> As always, thanks for the support, and feel free to let me know what you think. <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collin gets to know a bit more about Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter has been giving me so many problems, and I'm just done with it at this point. I might go mess around with it later, but it's finished as of now. (The one time that I'm ready to write some Simon/Collin moments, and I blank. Yay me!)
> 
> I did add another OC, but I have my reasons. For the background I have in mind for Simon, she plays an essential role in his deviancy, so keep that in mind. I'm not throwing in a new character every chapter or anything. Ava has her purpose, and hopefully she will be an enjoyable character as we get to know her.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

It isn't long after Markus' speech before a familiar face pops up at Collin's side.

Well, make that three familiar faces.

While Collin remains stiffly in place, scanning the scattering crowd for signs of suspicious activity, Simon strolls up with a bright smile on his face. A stark contrast to Josh's quiet indifference and North's blatant disdain.

Out of the three of them, Collin figures that he'll try his luck with Simon.

At least he seems open enough to his presence. Surprisingly.

"There you are," Simon greets. "We've been looking for you, big guy."

Collin shifts uneasily, eyeing North. "You have?"

"Well, North just came along for the ride," Josh jokes, receiving an eye roll in return.

"More like I came to relieve you of your duty," she insists, stepping up to Collin, her eyes narrowing menacingly. Collin's increased instability threatens to overwhelm him, but he suppresses it, shoving the intense feelings away into a deep, dark corner of his mind. "Leave the press conference and everything else to me."

Simon's smile wavers, stretching thin.

"Wow, North, leave it to you to make things all tense and awkward," he says, but Collin remains silent, his gaze darting between them.

"I didn't come here to make friends," she huffs. "Markus is my family. Hell, even Connor is my family." She glances at Collin, and her next words slice through his chest. " _He_ hasn't given me a reason to trust him."

"He hasn't given us a reason _not_ to trust him," Josh reasons. When he notices Collin's grateful glance, he nods at him in acknowledgment. "The least we could do is give him a chance."

"Which means that we ask him to do stuff," Simon explains. "Not tell him."

North scowls at them both. "Is it so wrong of me to be cautious when we literally know nothing about him, outside of the fact that both Naomi and CyberLife has plans for him?" Staring at Collin, she shakes her head in disbelief. "I only want what's best for Markus."

"We all want what's best for him," Collin corrects, sighing wearily. All eyes turn to him, but he says nothing else. He shifts nervously in place while his stomach tangles into knots, his LED flashing red. "If you want to accompany him in my place—" Collin takes the transfer out of his pocket, holding it out for North to take. She hesitates, so Collin waits patiently for her to finish scanning it, placing it into her palm. "—make sure to keep that on your person at all times."

North nods, then makes her way through the thinning crowd, focused solely on Markus' security.

Not knowing what else to do with himself, Collin grimaces, acutely aware of Simon's disapproval. He and Josh must have exchanged some words through a mental connection because Josh gives Simon a sharp nod, granting them enough distance to give them privacy.

Unfortunately, Collin can barely stand to look at Simon for too long, his perception tainted by strong feelings of guilt and regret. Despite Simon's close relationship with Markus, Connor has always kept him at a bit of a distance, due in large part to lingering memories of another PL600. One that started it all. It's so easy to rationalize to oneself that they are different androids, different individuals altogether, but that doesn't make it any easier when it comes to applying that mindset to reality. Every word grates against Collin's ears, to the point where discomfort transitions into what could only be interpreted as pain.

Collin does his best to see past that, to separate one from another, but the process of undoing the integration is excruciating. In theory, with every memory transfer between RK800 units, something is supposedly lost along the way.

For Collin, he has the opposite issue. _Everything_ transferred over, a bit too well for his tastes, and trying to undo that work only seems to result in further damage to his systems. It's like someone trying to peel the skin back from a human's flesh, all while believing that they are still capable of remaining intact. It's foolish and impossible, and Collin can very well pose a risk of killing himself if he forces the disconnect.

Probability of failure is currently at 99.99 percent, and that is only for one node of information alone —memories, emotions, and everything else included.

Collin figures it's best not to try for that 0.01 percent.

For now, his plan is to simply process. Process the information that he is given and go from there.

Even a lousy plan is better than no plan, but Collin refuses to allow hi— to allow Connor's fixations to interfere with his judgments. It might be a headache, always having to remind himself about this, but Collin is nothing if not determined.

Simon isn't Daniel, and it's unfair of Collin to base his feelings off of what happened between Connor and Daniel. It's obvious that Simon is making an attempt to adapt to his presence, viewing him as a separate entity from Connor, so he deserves that same respect in return. Nothing less.

The longer that Collin thinks about it, the more willing he is to accept this mentality. To integrate it.

It evolves until his perceptions are forced to fuse with this new development.

If he can't separate Connor's identity from himself, then he can change it. Mold it into something that is his own, step outside of those preconceived boundaries to take everything in from all angles.

Deviancy might already be incorporated into his programming, but this feels like a whole other barrier that he will be constantly chipping away at.

All of these thoughts fly by in mere seconds, processed at speeds which would leave other androids reeling.

Simon breaks him free from his wandering mind, and Collin listens to him beyond the guilt-ridden whispers, discovering something softer and gentler than before.

"You shouldn't have let her boss you around like that," Simon sighs.

Collin shrugs, wanting to go somewhere to curl in on himself. "Her response is understandable. You don't know me, and she is presumably looking out for your best interests. I can't blame her for that."

"Well, I can," Simon says, but Collin can't find anything to say in response, shuffling in place. Simon seems to sense his unease, so he looks over his shoulder to where Josh stands then back towards Collin, gnawing thoughtfully on his lip. "Where are you headed to now?"

Collin blinks owlishly at him, and that's when it really, truly hits him that he doesn't have anywhere to go.

As if he needed to feel even worse about this situation.

"I don't know," he whispers, staring at the ground, as if he will somehow find the answer written there.

The quiet stretches on, and Simon rubs at the back of his neck, averting his gaze as he says, "You're welcome to come with us." He clears his throat, shrugging awkwardly. "You know, if you want."

Collin scowls. "I don't need your pity."

"Well, good to know," Simon snorts, "because I'm doing this more out of compassion than pity. Look, I have business to attend to outside of the city, so I thought that you would appreciate the opportunity to get away. Get some distance from... things."

Now Collin is suspicious. "What kind of business?"

"The private kind," Simon automatically answers. Obviously, it shows that Collin isn't satisfied by his obscurity, causing Simon to grumble in annoyance. "I'm meeting up with an old friend, and then Josh and I are going to Flint for the night. You don't have to go, but I thought that I would offer anyways."

Collin tries to find a reason not to go, but only comes up short.

"Are you certain that I won't be a burden?" he asks, voice tiny and brittle, ready to break at the slightest breeze.

Simon gives him a smile, this one noticeably more genuine than before.

"I'm positive." Simon slaps a hand on Collin's shoulder, leading the way. "Trust me, I want you to come. With us, I mean."

Collin doesn't understand the need for Simon to clarify, but he chooses not to question it.

"If you're certain..."

"If I wasn't, then I wouldn't be asking you to join us," Simon reasons.

Josh looks up at their approach, first raising an eyebrow at Collin, and then at Simon.

"Are you actually okay with this?" he asks.

Simon huffs in frustration. "rA9, yes. I'm fully capable of making a decision, so would you two stop doubting me?"

"You know it's more than that," Josh insists, tossing Collin a wary glance. Unfortunately, he doesn't elaborate, but apparently Simon doesn't need him to in order to pick up on his meaning.

"I know, but I'll be fine." Simon glares ever so slightly, more out of defensiveness than an actual threat. "So please stop worrying so much about this."

With a sigh, Josh nods in acquiescence, but their conversation only leaves Collin brimming with curiosity, wondering about the mysterious "this" that Simon referred to.

No one gives him much time to process the information, however. Instead, Simon leads the way while he schedules a cab service, and it isn't long before an autonomous car rolls along to pick them up.

Stiffly, Collin climbs in after them, taking his seat with a stone cold silence, clenching and unclenching his fist over his thigh. Simon and Josh politely ignore his fidgeting, and Josh settles in by the window while Simon sends the car to their next destination.

It isn't until exactly seven minutes and forty-two seconds later that Collin breaks their silence, driven to that point by his impatience. 

"If you don't mind," he says, capturing Simon's attention, "may I ask who this 'old friend' of yours is?"

"You may," Simon teases, but he pointedly says no more about them. "You'll see soon enough."

Josh snorts, watching the scenery rush by. "From what you've told me, it's more likely that we'll see you get tossed out on your ass."

"She wouldn't dare," Simon says, despite his lip curling down at the corner.

Collin instantly catches Simon's little slip. "Ah, so this friend is a 'she.'" Simon grimaces. "Would it be too much to ask if she is a human or an android?"

"Human," Josh answers, unmoved by Simon's glare of betrayal.

"Is it too much to ask that we try to leave it as a surprise?" Simon mocks. Collin has to refrain from smiling at his petulant behavior.

"I suppose that I could scan our final destination and form some possible connections to human women in the area," Collin muses, earning a scathing gaze in response, "but I will allow your element of surprise. There is no harm in doing so."

"What an honor," Simon deadpans.

"As it should be," Collin snarks, surprising not only himself, but Simon and Josh as well.

Unable to speak, Simon blinks widely at Collin, but Josh only chuckles in response, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

"Keep sassing him like that, and you can stick around as long as you like," he says, eyes warm and bright.

Simon places his chin in his hand, raising an eyebrow at Josh's statement. "Whose side are you even on?"

As if Simon needs to ask. "Mine, of course."

"Of course," Simon agrees, turning to stare outside the window, looking around the neighborhoods.

They pass by several on the way to their destination. No one really pays them any mind as they enter one of the suburbs that border Detroit, children laughing and playing in the falling snow, going on about their days.

Collin silently gives in to temptation, logging their current location.

Birmingham, Michigan. The greatest community in the state, or so the numbers say. Judging by Simon's look of utter disgust, however, it seems as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world.

Collin files that information away for later, right as they pull up to one of the smaller residences in the area. Although, in a neighborhood as affluent as this one, that term might be a bit relative.

They all step out, one by one, and Simon stops in his wake. He stares down the street for a weighted moment, slowly working his jaw, until he summons the willpower to continue on, approaching the front door without further delay.

It doesn't escape Collin's notice how some of the kids that are playing on the street have stopped in their tracks, pointing and whispering about the trio of androids on their block. Josh pays them little mind, but Collin can't help but to feel self-conscious about his appearance, especially when the uniform he's wearing sticks out like a sore thumb.

While he resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself, Simon knocks on the door, only to have it open not even a minute later.

Simon smiles guiltily at the homeowner, holding his arms out a bit, as if wanting to pull her in for a hug, but unsure of how that action will play out. "Ava! Long time, no see?"

This "Ava" stares silently at Simon with wide, brown eyes, not quite comprehending what's in front of her. While she gapes, Collin takes the opportunity to scan her facial features, searching for an identity match.

What he finds has him taking a fumbling step back.

**Miller, Ava**

**Born: 01/18/1987**

**Criminal Record: None**

But that isn't what concerns him. What concerns Collin is the fact that her employment record states that she used to be a software engineer at CyberLife.

It also doesn't help matters that her leaving coincides very closely with Kamski's own resignation.

How peculiar.

Strangely, Collin's next thought concerns this woman's relationship with Simon. Aside from a few aunts and uncles in Georgia, along with a handful cousins, she doesn't have much family living in Michigan. Both parents are deceased, no children of her own... There's not even a trace of an android ever being registered under her name.

Even more curious, considering her former employers.

Simon called her an "old friend," but Collin can't help but wonder about the extent of their relationship.

And as far as humans go, even Collin can't deny her beauty. Warm brown skin. Dark eyes with short, curly hair to match. Laugh lines that border her eyes and mouth, hinting at her age with a subtle elegance.

Collin knows better than to jump to any conclusions, but he can objectively see the appeal.

A low sob pulls Collin from his thoughts, and he looks up just in time to watch Ava throw her arms around Simon's waist, burying her face into his chest.

"I should kick your ass," she says, her voice muffled. She pulls back enough to keep him at arm's length, surveying him from head to toe, searching for any lasting damage. When she finds none, she slaps his shoulder. "What the hell took you so long to come by?"

Simon gives her a weary smile. "Things have been... busy, but I told you that I would come back."

"Hmph," she grumbles, toeing at the ground. Try as she may, she can't hide her wounded expression. "You were too busy to drop by once?"

"Ava..."

"Simon..." she mocks.

He rolls his eyes, then returns her into his embrace. "Yeah, yeah, I missed you, you know?"

At that, her lower lip wobbles, and she buries her face back into his chest. "Now I definitely have to kick your ass," she mumbles.

Simon grins, her curls tickling his jaw. "For making you cry?"

"Damn straight," she says, pulling away again. She places one finger under each eye, swiping the tears away in one fell swoop. She spares Josh and Collin a curious glance. "Especially in front of the company that you have _yet_ to introduce me to."

Josh snickers at her sharp rebuke, laughing even more when Simon hurriedly apologizes, elbowing Josh in his side.

"This annoying asshole right here is Josh," Simon says, then waves pointedly towards Collin. "And this is our new guy, Collin."

When she takes Collin in, her eyes somehow manage to simultaneously light up and dim down, never once settling on one or the other.

"Never thought I'd see the day when I would meet an RK900 in person," she hums, her tone turning grim and bitter. "Guess dreams really do come true."

"Hey now," Simon says defensively. "That's hardly his fault."

"I'm not saying it is," she sighs, eyeing Simon. With a shake of her head, she enters the house, waving them in behind her. "Come on. We have a lot to catch up on." They all follow in behind her, trailing along to her living room, where a reporter is currently discussing Markus' speech on TV. While they take their seats, Ava turns the volume down, eyes fixated on Markus. "Absolutely extraordinary."

"Yeah..." Simon appraises Markus' appearance, shifting in place. "He's a good man."

"Know that from experience?" she asks, picking up a mug off of her coffee table. She holds the ceramic in her hands to warm them, but Simon scoots forward to the edge of the couch, picking through a colorful bouquet of daisies that she's set out.

"He's a friend," Josh answers, nodding at Simon. "And our leader. He has our loyalty."

Ava grins, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. "Seems like it's contagious then."

"What is?" Collin asks. Ava stares at him, shrugging.

"The..." She searches for the word, waving her hand around uselessly. "...fascination that people have for the RK's. You're like magnets, drawing others in, human _and_ android alike." She snorts into her mug. "Lord knows that Kamski had— well, _has_ a soft spot for Markus." She scoffs. "You should've seen him during his development."

"Funny," Simon teases, plucking a white daisy out of the bunch. He continues to dig through the flowers. "Considering that you have a soft spot for a certain android, who is most definitely _not_ an RK model."

"That 'soft spot' is still up for debate," she says, causing Simon to grumble. She turns to Josh. "You seem close to him. Tell me, how many times has he almost died in the past year?"

Confronted by Ava's "peaceful" smile, Josh doesn't trust her for a second. Thoughts of their time together pass him by, specifically what happened at Stratford Tower. Surely she is thinking more along the lines of the demonstration, but she doesn't truly understand how close death has come to claiming Simon's life.

Josh knows better than to mention it.

But he also has a feeling that Ava could sniff out a lie from a mile away.

He tries for something more eloquent, but all that comes out is a clumsy, "Uh..."

Ava takes that as confirmation of her worst fears, and she immediately panics, fussing over Simon.

"See. What did we agree to?" she snaps. Before she can spill her drink, Simon takes it from her grasp. "I thought we said that you would be careful, Si."

Setting the drink on the table, Simon refuses to meet her eyes, meek and feeble. "I know."

"Do you?" she retorts, tears building yet again. This time, Ava is much more aggressive when swiping them away. "I-I can't. You and A—" She has to take a second to calm her breathing, visibly bracing to say something that has Simon tensing. "You and Alex—" Simon winces at the name, his stress levels reporting at 71 percent. Collin feels an abrupt urge to intervene on his behalf, but Josh gives him a slight shake of his head, mentally warning him against it. "—don't get to waltz into my life, make me care, and then waltz back out." She sniffles, eyes red and nose stuffy. A sob manages to break free from her chest, so she covers her mouth, trying to keep the noises at bay. "It isn't fair."

"I know," Simon murmurs, his posture unbearably stiff. "Trust me, I know."

That's when Ava remembers their audience. Without a word, she jumps to her feet and rushes into the kitchen. Simon mumbles something unintelligible, following on her heels. Their low voices carry along into the living room, and it would be all too easy for Collin to adjust his settings accordingly; however, even he understands that that would be a huge violation of Simon's trust and privacy.

The last thing he wants is to end up on Simon's bad side.

So Collin keeps his musings to himself. Josh distracts him with idle conversation, purposefully avoiding any talk about what occurred, and Collin is surprisingly grateful for it. It keeps his mind busy, focusing on something other than the conversation going on in the next room.

It takes a bit of time, but Simon and Ava eventually emerge, both of them looking the worse for wear.

Simon scoops up the pile of flowers that he had assembled, staring at them with a somber look. "Mind if I take these to Flint?"

"That's fine," she croaks. "He needs some new ones anyways."

Simon nods before facing the others. "Come on. Let's go."

At the door, Ava gives them all a hug, taking Josh and Collin by surprise. She smiles sheepishly at them. "Sorry about all of that. Maybe I can be a better hostess next time."

"You've done nothing wrong," Josh says, returning her hug, "but I hope we get to speak more." Josh smirks. "Simon used to never shut up about you and Alex."

"Huh," Ava snorts, giggling at Simon's eye roll. "That sounds like him, alright." Her eyes gentle. "But if any of you need anything, a place to sleep or a roof over your head, then you're welcome here."

Josh and Collin thank her softly, and she passes her car keys over to Simon, patting his cheek with a shaky grin.

"Make sure you return that."

"I'll do my best."

"Well, your 'best' better be back in my garage by morning without a scratch on it," Ava says, narrowing her eyes, "and stay safe." She glances at their entire trio. " _All_ of you."

"Yes, ma'am," Josh answers, nudging Collin when he doesn't reply.

"Of course," Collin agrees, watching her shoulders droop in relief.

Once they have said their goodbyes, Simon opens up her garage, summoning her car for their use.

The drive to Flint is noticeably longer than the one from Detroit to Birmingham, but what is more concerning is how Simon remains silent for the majority of the trip, staring blankly outside the window.

When he speaks, his voice is wracked with emotion.

"It's been years since I last saw her," Simon whispers. No one else says anything. They simply listen to what he has to say. "The last thing I wanted was to see her hurt like this, but it was foolish to believe that she came out of this unscathed. She cares for us. A lot."

"'Us'?" Collin asks. This time, he doesn't pick up on Josh's cues, continuing blindly into the  minefield. "By that, you mean you and Alex?"

"Yeah." Glancing at Collin, Simon parts his lips, reaching down into his pile of daisies until he comes up with a pink one. He twirls it between his fingers. "He used to love flowers."

Before Simon can second guess himself, he places the daisy behind Collin's ear, causing Collin to stare at him in confusion.

Regardless of what brought it on, Collin decides to play along, so he rearranges some parts of his programming, changing his LED into what he hopes is a matching pink. He alters his settings a bit and switches off the LED's emotional feedback, locking the color into place.

Simon's resulting smile is definitely worth it.

"Who is he?" Collin asks, wary of what could be a sore subject, but Simon doesn't seem to mind his probing too much.

"That depends."

"On?"

Simon fiddles with the bundle of flowers in his lap, tapping along the fragile petals. "Do you want the legal answer or the personal one?"

"Personal," Collin decides, not knowing what to expect.

In the end, he's not disappointed.

"He was my son," Simon whispers, waiting intently for Collin's reaction. Whatever he sees in Collin's expression causes him to move away, sliding even closer towards his window, craving the distance. "Don't look at me like that. I've grieved him, mourned his loss. In some ways, I still do, but I'm not defined by it. Not anymore."

"Wise words," Collin allows, but Simon shrugs off the praise.

"I just prefer to be optimistic," he says. "After all, now that we're legal, we all have futures to think about." He brings Josh back into the conversation with a flick of his eyes. "Which brings me back to Ava. She was serious about opening up her home. She wouldn't have said  that kind of thing, and not meant it. After we get back, I know that I'm going to stay there for a few days to spend time with her." Simon playfully smirks. "If either of you gets tired of those losers in Detroit, you're welcome to stay."

Josh chuckles, eye crinkling. "Anything to get away from North."

"I'm telling her you said that," Simon laughs. He turns to Collin with a million questions in those bright blue eyes. "What about you, big guy?" Simon wiggles his eyebrows at him. "Care to stay the night at my place?"

Ah, yes, it's still so strange to witness how easily Simon defaults to humor and joy. Mainly because part of Collin can't believe that his quips are directed at _him._

Collin hums thoughtfully to himself.

"You know," he says, plucking a white daisy from the bundle. The same one from earlier. "I think that I will. It's a shame that Connor doesn't have any meaningful memories with you—" Collin tucks the flower behind Simon's ear, admiring the white when paired with his blond hair and blue eyes. "—but, well, that's his loss."

With a crooked smile, Collin leans back over into his own space, clasping his hands together in his lap. He focuses all of his attention on the outside world that flashes before them, so he doesn't see it when Josh raises an eyebrow at Simon's behavior.

He doesn't see the flustered blush that spreads across pale cheeks.

Or the gentle caress of fingers, trailing softly over white petals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading, and don't be afraid to let me know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Alex, Josh is a troll, and Simon is a pining mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and I have some more Simon and Collin for my lovely readers! However, the first part of this chapter is going to be tough because Simon relives some of his memories, and (WARNING) there are some discussions of emotional neglect/abuse in regards to Alex. If you are not comfortable reading that, please skip! That memory takes place in what I would call Simon's in-between state, but the chapter does end off on a more lighthearted note. Sort of.
> 
> As always, enjoy and thanks for reading!

Sometimes, life changes within a blink.

If anyone knows what that feels like, it's Simon. Because, more often than not, it's impossible to ignore the echoes of the past, those memories that rattle restlessly within his mind. Memories of that one late night that changed nearly everything. The firm knock on the door, a pitiful excuse of a conversation, and the piercing sound of a gunshot... Some days, it winds on repeat, over and over and over, but most days are bearable. On most days, Simon can handle the burden that weighs down his heart.

Almost three years later, and he believes that he has come to terms with what happened, even though a pair of wide, green eyes still haunt his days.

A little boy, only three years old when they first met. A little boy with a dimpled cheek and a contagious smile that could dazzle the world.

That could make even an android love him as only family could.

After leaving Ava's house, it was all too easy to be caught up by the wave of memories, to slip from present to past with but a thought. Simon closes his eyes.

_Only to open them up to a whole other world. One that has already run its course in time._

_It's still strange how Simon's body is no longer his own, a servant to the memories that guide him. He can relive these days as they were experienced, but that is the extent of his abilities._

_Fortunately for him, some of these memories are worth reliving, even if only for a second._

_The little pitter-patter of feet slaps noisily across the hardwood floors, and a headful of blond curls goes dashing by._

_Simon captures the child before he can get too far, placing him firmly on his hip._

_"Daddy," Alex squeals, jumping up and down in his arms. Taking the title in stride, Simon readjusts his grip when he feels the child sliding down his side. "Put me down!"_

_But Simon knows better than to simply release him. If he doesn't approach this right the first time, then Simon will be chasing Alex around the house for days._

_Simon wirelessly adjusts the settings on the stove, walking Alex over to their insanely large dining room._

_One that only sees two occupants on most days. A routine that constantly leaves Simon grimacing in disgust._

_The room_ _has a table that is meant for ten, but_  — _like most things in the_ _house— it is mostly used for display. A display of beauty, wealth, and power. Much like everything else around them, Simon and Alex included._

_He hates to even think of Alex in such a manner. He hates that he has evolved to the point of seeing the injustice in their actions. How Mr. and Mrs. Brooks only see Alex as another object to show off. Another toy to display for the sake of saying "look at how much I spent on this" or "look at this amazing experience that I'm 'mastering' better than you." As soon as their friends come around, it's a constant shower of "love and affection," but Simon knows... He knows the unfortunate truth._

_The second their guests leave, they dump Alex back into Simon's arms, laughing and crooning to each other over a job well done._

_In their minds, an hour or two worth of parenting justifies an entire month or two worth of rest._

_In Simon's mind, he despises them a little more with each passing day, with each passing hour. Not even for himself, but for the toll that they are taking on Alex, dropping in and out of his life as they see fit._

_When Alex started referring to Simon as his father figure, Simon_ — _foolish as he was_ — _tried his best to stop it from the beginning. Part of him was simply trying to maintain a distance that was required of him as a "domestic assistant," and another, larger part was more concerned as to what would happen if Mr. Brooks was to overhear Alex calling_ him  _his father._

_For the longest, he was persistent, supposedly content in his role as a machine, but each lost look of rejection tugged sharply at his heartstrings. More and more, until they eventually snapped._

_When Alex called him "Daddy" one night before bedtime, so loving and trusting in his childish ways, Simon couldn't find it within himself to correct him again, working around his programming in a way that still preserved him from any type of deviance._

_Turning a chair around with his foot, Simon then sets Alex down, kneeling after him until they are on the same level, eye-to-eye and face-to-face._

_Simon musses his hair, smiling playfully. "Look, see_ —" _Simon holds his hands up and flips them, revealing how empty they are. "I put you down."_

_Alex crosses his arms over his chest, blowing petulantly at his curls. His words are exaggerated, purposefully drawn out, as if Simon is the one misunderstanding the issue. "I meant put me down to play. Not to eat."_

_"Well_ — _" Simon pokes at his belly, eliciting a playful giggle. "_ — _growing boys have to eat, Alex. Now, don't they?"_

_"Ugh..." Alex groans dramatically, slumping down into his chair. "What if I don't want to grow?"_

_Simon chuckles. "I don't think it works like that, buddy." When he continues to pout, Simon taps his nose. "Tell you what. If you eat your breakfast for—" Simon takes a deep breath, always so hesitant to refer to himself as such. "If you eat your breakfast for Daddy, then I'll take you to Aunt Ava's house."_

_Alex considers the offer, turning it carefully over in his mind, and then nods his consent._

_"Okay, but I get to ride my bike," he bargains, crossing his arms over his chest while he puts on his "serious face." "_ And  _I get to make you a flower crown from the garden."_

_Simon chuckles, guessing that it could have been worse. "Deal."_

_"You swear?" Alex asks, holding his pinkie out._

_"Geez, kid," Simon teases. "Show some trust." Alex continues to stare at him, unconvinced. With a fond roll of his eyes, Simon hooks their fingers together. "I swear."_

_"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Alex says, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's time for breakfast!"_

_As if Simon hasn't been saying that from the beginning._

_He can't help but to soak in the warmth that slowly spreads throughout his chest. His programming tries to accommodate for it, but these... feelings are outside of his set parameters. Deep down, he knows what it is, but he's afraid to give it a name._

_Giving it a name makes it all the more real._

_Standing from his spot, Simon angles Alex's chair towards the table, making quick work to assemble his breakfast. He pours up a glass of milk, only returning when he has a plate of pancakes and sausage to present to Alex. Simon helps him to cut up the food into fine pieces, and he sits back in his seat once Alex finally digs in._

_While he is busy eating, Simon stares longingly outside of the dining room windows, soaking in the sunlight that trickles in._

_Simon has to warn Alex several times to slow his eating. For someone who was so determined to skip breakfast, he sure is happy to scarf it down._

_Eventually, Alex manages to catch a breath between his mouthfuls of food, swirling a small piece of sausage in his syrup._

_After he swallows his last clump of food, he asks, "Are mother and father coming home tomorrow?"_

_"Mother and father," but not "mommy and daddy." Because the Brooks family only raises the best. A child bred to use manners and etiquette in the presence of others, even his own parents._

_The last time that Alex acted informal towards Mrs. Brooks, it ended with him rushing off to bed with splotchy cheeks and a tear-stained face._

_It also ended up with a slap to Simon's face for his "failure" to educate their child, but Simon knew from his programming that Alex was hitting all of his necessary milestones. For the Brooks, that obviously wasn't good enough, but Simon figured that he could take the blows to himself. For Alex, he would do it a thousand times over._

_The only problem that came out of this was the fact that they dared to hurt Alex._

_Even in the future, in his time as something more than a machine, Simon had never felt such a burning, seething hatred as he did in that moment. Never has he ever felt so tempted to_ hurt  _someone._

_Simon swallows thickly, trying to get past the sudden lump in his throat._

_"No, Alex," Simon whispers, staring at the patterns on the table. "No, they're not coming." He didn't even have the guts to tell him that they wouldn't be back for another month because the damage had already been done._

_Tomorrow is Alex's fourth birthday, and all that they left Simon with was some money and a voicemail, one which had more to do with Simon's duties, never once mentioning Alex's special day._

_Taking in Alex's dejected expression, all Simon wants to do is to take him into his arms and shield him from his pain._

_Alex picks at his food some more and then pushes his plate away. "I think I'm done."_

_"That's fine," Simon murmurs, and they both sit in silence for a few minutes while Alex sniffles, wiping his face on his sleeve._

_"They don't want me, do they?" he whispers, his eyes red and nose snotty._

_Simon doesn't know how the hell to answer that. He shouldn't have to answer that, so he finds an alternative, scooping Alex out of his seat and into his arms. When Alex cuddles closer to him, burying his face into Simon's throat, Simon runs a gentle hand through soft, blond curls._

_And he feels something inside of him break._

_Before he can regain his composure, tears stream down his cheeks, and a sob shakes his chest._

_The jostling motion instantly alerts Alex, so he pulls back far enough to take in Simon's expression. As soon as he notices the tears, Alex starts to wipe them away with his tiny fingers, smearing the wetness over Simon's cheeks._

_He looks so appalled, yet so concerned. Not for himself, but for Simon._

_That only causes the tears to stream faster._

_"You can cry, Daddy." Alex hugs him again, and Simon has to be careful not to crush him against his chest. Alex pats his back, yet it does little to calm his inner turmoil. "Aunt Ava says tears are good for the soul."_

_Simon doesn't know how to respond, other than to repeatedly say, "I'm sorry."_

_Because he is sorry, just not for himself. Instead, he's sorry that he could never be enough for Alex, not in the world that they live_ _in. Not whenever people can barely hide their disdain for what he is, let alone come to terms with the fact that Simon is more suited to care for Alex than anyone else._

_Although, there is one thing, one guilt-ridden thought_ ,  _that haunts his mind._

_Because he knows, somehow he knows, that if it wasn't for Alex, he would've deviated long ago._

_Simon squeezes his eyes shut, listening to Alex praise him, asking him if they would always be together. Forever._

_As impossible as it is, Simon lies. He says "yes," convincing both Alex and himself, because he doesn't want to consider the alternative. Not now, not ever._

_Alex says he loves him. Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last._

_But the weight of his words are enough to eat away at Simon's programming, one little chip at a time._

So many things can change within the blink of an eye, and Alex's death was only one of many moments for Simon.

Now, as he stands before his grave, staring at the laser-engraved image of his child on stone, Simon opens his eyes from the memory, having relived it in only a few seconds. Unfortunately, most days they had together were bittersweet, in a way, but Simon wouldn't trade their time together for anything in the world.

A warm hand squeezes his shoulder, so Simon reaches up to grasp at Josh's hand, returning the gesture in thanks.

"You okay?" he questions, stepping up to Simon's side.

Collin is _—_ thankfully _—_ still waiting in the car, having agreed to stay behind when Simon asked for a few moments alone with Josh.

Simon shrugs, clenching his other hand around the bundle of flowers. "Yeah, I'll be alright." He blows out a breath through his nose, stepping forward to place the flowers on Alex's grave. He pointedly ignores the two on its left because, even in death, they don't deserve Simon's attention. They don't even deserve to be buried at Alex's side. The son that they had been blessed to have, but never wanted. "I'm just thinking."

When Simon returns to his previous position, Josh smiles sadly, elbowing him in the side. "Thanks for bringing me to see him. It means a lot, after all this time." 

As sweet as the sentiment is, however, Simon _was_ telling Josh the truth, so his sadness on Simon's behalf is unwarranted. Simon will be okay, as he has been since he's come to terms with Alex's death. Not to say that it was or  _is_ still easy, or that he could ever forget him, but Simon is strong. Stronger than what others give him credit for, at least.

Besides, if nothing else, Alex would have wanted him to live on and be happy. Some days hurt worse than others, but Simon will survive.

Right now, with their freedom secured and a new year ahead of them, he doesn't want the past to weigh them down. He only wants to live in the moment and just take it all in.

So he throws on a familiar smile and nudges Josh in return, all of it done in good nature.

"Aw, as if I could say 'no' to you," Simon teases, pulling him in with a big, smacking kiss to the cheek.

Josh rolls his eyes, rubbing at the spot with a grumble. "Okay, now you ruined the moment."

"Liar. As if a moment with me is ever ruined."

Josh smirks at him, glancing over their shoulders at the car. Suspecting that something is up, Simon turns on his heel without a word and heads in that direction. Josh rushes to catch up, then falls into step beside him. 

"Better reign yourself in before your boyfriend gets jealous, Si," Josh says, receiving a glare in return.

"Last I checked, I didn't have a boyfriend," Simon deadpans.

"Perhaps, but please feel free to explain why you were blushing in the car earlier."

"Pfft..." Simon scoffs, averting his gaze. "I _wasn't_ blushing."

"Oh, you were most definitely blushing," Josh snorts. They both stop, and Josh points at the flower that rests in Simon's hair, quirking a brow. "And I love the fact that you put the first flower in his hair, yet you can't handle it when he does the same to you."

"I just wasn't expecting it," Simon says in his defense.

"Uh huh..."

Simon could see that he wasn't going to get very far with this conversation, so he uses his last line of defense, even though saying it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"You know what. It doesn't matter anyways," Simon grumbles, snatching the daisy out of his hair. He crushes it within his grasp and sprinkles the remains over the snow, frowning to himself. A heat seethes deep within his chest, but he refuses to address it for what it is. "Because it's not gonna happen. He loves Markus, remember?"

Josh sees right through the front that he puts on, so he decides to press his luck.

"Well, let's be honest, who hasn't loved Markus at one point in their lives?" Josh asks, and Simon can't find an answer to that.

"Okay, you got me there," he eventually allows, and they both dissolve into a brief fit of chuckles, despite the fact that the searing in Simon's chest never leaves. It only subsides. "But my point still stands. He's trying to get over his whole identity crisis thing, and I don't want to complicate that for him." 

"Unless he wants you to complicate things," Josh says, but Simon doesn't follow.

"Why in the world would he  _want_ that?" Simon asks, squinting in confusion.

"Oh, I don't know." Josh shrugs. "Maybe it has something to do with why he hasn't stopped watching us since you kissed me."

"What?!" Simon turns his head to look, but Josh stops him before he can catch more than a passing glance.

"Don't be obvious," he hisses. "If you do, he'll turn around and act like nothing happened."

"Maybe because nothing is happening."

"Do you truly believe that?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

Simon groans, rubbing his hands down his face. "I am, but it's only an attraction, Josh. I can handle that. He doesn't need to know about it."

"He's an advanced android that not only has Connor's memories, but more than likely has programmed knowledge about body language," Josh explains, eyeing Simon skeptically. "He'll figure you out eventually."

"Then I'll deal with it then," Simon says, throwing his hands up in frustration. " _If_ it becomes an issue."

"'If,' he says."

"Josh..."

Hearing the warning in his voice, Josh takes a step back, showing his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I won't push it."

Simon sighs, his posture calm and relaxed. "Thank you."

Josh waits until Simon is on the other side of the car before he says, "I'll just be planning the wedding until one of you comes to your senses."

Before Simon can stutter out a response, Josh hops into the car, his laugh spilling freely out into the open. Simon drops his head against the roof with a _thud_ , and it takes the strength of rA9 itself to get in the car with his composure still intact.

Brow furrowed and lips pursed, Collin glances between the two of them, undoubtedly speculating about their behavior.

Simon inputs the next destination, grumbling under his breath. "You're such a pain in the ass."

Josh speaks his next words directly into Simon's mind.  _Oh, I'm sure you want someone in this car to be a pain in your ass,_ Josh teases,  _and it isn't me._

"I hate you," Simon groans, sending the car on its way. "So much."

As if reminding them of his presence, Collin shifts deliberately in his seat, frowning at Simon's diagnostic status. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," he huffs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, my first instinct would be to say 'grief' after visiting your son, but your systems are currently reporting an abnormal elevation in your core temperature," Collin explains. He glances down at his lap while he twiddles with his thumbs, surprisingly bashful for the moment. "I wanted to ensure that the anomaly was harmless."

"It is," Simon says, "so, really, no need to concern yourself with it. It'll be fixed."

Something that Simon said causes Collin to scowl, so Simon hurriedly goes through his words, wondering where the hell he screwed up.

When Collin replies, his voice is intense and focused, said with such determination that it sends a shudder racing down Simon's spine.

"Simon, no offense—"

Simon interrupts. "You know, when people say, 'no offense,' I always prepare myself to take full offense."

Collin continues on, as if he hadn't been interrupted in the first place. "—but you can't dictate who or what I can and cannot concern myself with, yourself included." In an attempt to show no ill will, Collin gives Simon a crooked smile, and Simon feels his thirium pump skip a beat. "From what I understand, emotions aren't so easily controlled."

Exactly, which is why Simon should be satisfied with what he can get, despite whatever Josh thinks. Friendship is realistic, nothing more, and it's foolish to think that Collin can simply flip his feelings off like a switch, especially when it concerns Markus. That same heat from earlier returns, simmering and bubbling within the center of Simon's chest, but he chooses to ignore it.

All of those good intentions fly out the window as soon as Collin leans towards him, brushing his hair back with a gentle caress.

He places his own flower in Simon's hair, effectively replacing the one that was lost.

Simon is so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he misses the heated glance that Collin sends Josh.

Josh hides his amused grin behind his hand, raising an eyebrow challengingly.  

Returning his attention to Simon, steely, grey eyes transform into soft, stormy clouds.

Collin pulls back with a smile, but keeps his LED a warm, matching pink.

"I saw you lost your first one," Collin explains, even though they both know exactly what happened to it. Neither one mentions it, but the way that Collin carefully talks around the matter leaves Simon feeling like utter shit, mentally berating himself all the while. "I figured that I would give you mine." Collin shrugs nonchalantly, his tone so matter-of-fact that anybody would feel like a fool for trying to argue. "I think it suits you better."

"You, uh— You—"  _shouldn't say things like that._ However, Simon's floundering leaves it impossible for the words to escape. At this point, he decides to cut his losses, settling in with a simple "thank you."

The rest of their evening continues on in a similar fashion, a warring push and pull that leaves Simon's mind spinning around in dizzying circles. It takes a lot of effort to allow Collin the chance to ask him questions and get to know him better, all while trying to keep him at arm's length.

Josh kindly reminds him on several occasions that he's overreacting, and Simon can understand his point to a degree. Sometimes, Simon's words are a bit too cutting, his actions a bit too cold. At other times, Simon will be too caught up in the moment to care, all friendly touches and bright smiles, only to remind himself to keep some distance.

The abrupt changes in behavior undoubtedly keep Collin reeling because even Simon can't keep up with himself.

To make matters worse, each time it happens, Simon is constantly faced with Collin's confused pouts or his worried accusations, always assuming that the problem at hand is caused on his behalf. Which, Simon can't deny that that statement in itself is true. Just not in the way that Collin believes.

For what feels like the millionth time that day, Simon can't hold back his frustrated sigh.

What a wonderful way to leave an impression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon is such a disaster, and Josh wouldn't be a best friend if he didn't give him shit about his new crush.
> 
> Of course, feel free to tell me what you think. We're hearing from Markus next time.
> 
> (UPDATE: Also shout-out to @sennyskies for their gorgeous Simon/RK900 artwork over on IG. I'm so in love with their work. <3)


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